


Poison

by sussiekitten



Category: Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mentioned Character Death, Mild Gore, Mild religious prejudice, Nightmares, Other, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Rape Recovery, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 105,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sussiekitten/pseuds/sussiekitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blood. There was so much blood, and it wasn't coming off. Sometimes he wondered if the future truly was worth living for. Then Carvahall happened. <br/>(Please mind the tags before reading)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arsenic

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Eragon or anything associated with the Inheritance Cycle.
> 
> Unbetaed. All errors here are my own.
> 
> Murtagh and Eragon are not related in this story. Eragon won't make an appearance until the third chapter, as that is when his place is introduced in the story.
> 
> The character Aksel Wood that appears in this story is mine. The rest are Paolinis. This story also features my human versions of Saphira and Thorn, and later, the other dragons as well. Beware that several of Paolinis characters will appear in this story, and then usually in unlikey places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon or anything associated with the Inheritance Cycle.
> 
> A/N Unbetaed. All errors here are my own.
> 
> Murtagh and Eragon are not related in this story. Eragon won't make an appearance until the third chapter, as that is when his place is introduced in the story.
> 
> The character Aksel Wood that appears in this story is mine. The rest that you recognise are Paolinis. This story also features my human versions of Saphira and Thorn, and later, the other dragons as well. Beware that several of Paolinis characters will appear in this story, and then usually in unlikey places.

The room was bathed in darkness, but he could still smell it; still feel it.

It was in his hair, dripping and sliding down his neck, leaving a vivid red trail that would be tough to wash off later. It was all over his hands, staining them, coating them. They would never be fully clean again. It had gotten in his mouth. He could still taste the copper, the pain, the venom that had run though that man's veins. It was all over his clothes, ruining them, making them cling to his skin.

It was all over the walls; splotches of ruby, vivid trails of crimson. It would have to be painted over.

_Blood_. It was everywhere.

He looked at his hands. It had cooled and was drying, but he could see the vivid red colour it had once possessed. The blood. His father's blood.

The man he had just killed.

A sob latched itself in his throat, making him choke. The air was so full of it; the smell of death and decay. How long had it been?

He slid his hands over his face, straining the flesh even more crimson. He gripped his hair tightly and bent his head. The voice was still there; screaming at him, yelling at him. He screamed back.

The screams slowly turned into sobs as his voice left him. He curled onto himself and cried.

That's how the police found him the next day.

\----

_  
**Boy Murders His Father In Cold Blood – See the pictures and the exclusives on pages 2-4.**  
_

It had been all over the news. He had been the boy who had killed his father. Boy. Even though he was eighteen, they still called him a boy.

_  
**Morzan Teytor was found murdered in his own home, his son soaked in his blood. The trial will be held next month. The Police Chief is certain of the boy's guilt. See the entire interview on page 6.**  
_

It was everywhere. He couldn't get away from it. Even in the holding cell, that was all he could hear. He was kept in isolation. They were worried that he would go nuts. But they didn't know. They knew nothing.

_  
**A psychic evaluation has been requested of the boy's attorney. The results have yet to be released to the press.**  
_

He didn't care. He knew what the tests would say. He was schizophrenic, he was bipolar, or maybe he was a psychopath? Either way, it wouldn't matter. He knew his fate; he would get locked up. It didn't matter what his father had done to him, it didn't matter that the blood the police had washed off him that night had been partly his. It didn't matter that his body had been riddled with bruises and cuts. All that mattered was that he had killed his own father.

_  
**The school reports that the boy seemed healthy.**  
_

"He was always quiet," says one of his previous high school teachers.

His classmates report that he was always "hanging by himself and didn't like to do stuff after class".

He had planned to continue living with his father even after applying to college. His classmates report that Teytor appeared to have been a loving father, even though the boy seemed to hate him. One of them said the following; "I wasn't surprised that he killed his father. He certainly seemed to hate him enough.

He sneered. What did they know? Nothing; the same as with the police. Everyone always ignored what was right in front of them. That was how the human's mind worked. He didn't wear the abuse on his sleeve and his father never showed any signs that he was abusing him either. That was the beauty of that man; he was a skilled liar. Too skilled. He hadn't inherited that trait. That's why he lost it that one night. He hadn't been able to take it anymore.

_  
**No photos of the boy himself have been released to the press. The trial will be closed from the public eye; only the sentence will be reported to the media. The police say that this is to give the boy some privacy.**  
_

They still continued to call him a boy. The shrink they had sent had been more considerate; she had at least acted like they were equals. But he knew better. He was beneath her. He was a monster; a young man who had killed his father for no apparent reason.

Well, he wasn't helping matters either, he supposed. He refused to talk. No one would listen to him anyway, so why should he? He had talked to the shrink and to his attorney, but not to the police. They wouldn't understand anyway. They had already judged him from the moment they stepped inside the house and saw his father's body. What good would it do for him to plead innocent? Nothing.

_  
**The trial has been on-going for the past week. The public is still eagerly awaiting the results from what is called "the most brutal murder in the 21st century".**  
_

He didn't feel flattered at all, but at the same time, he didn't care. The police portrayed him to be a psychopath, and they wouldn't let him stand up and defend himself. Despite the fact that his shrink had said that he was mentally stable, he could see it in the jury's eyes. They thought he was crazy, unstable, and certainly a cold-blooded killer. They were going to say that he was guilty.

And still he said nothing.

_  
**The Jury Has Reached Its Decision! – Boy Gets A 12 Year Sentence For The Brutal Murder Of His Father. See more information on pages 2-3.**  
_

His attorney had wanted to protest, but he hadn't let him. There was nothing that could be done. The next trial would say that he was guilty, and so would the next. He would take his sentence and see it through.

He was just old enough to go into a real prison; juvenile detention was for teenagers. Apparently he was old enough to go into an adult prison, but young enough to be called a boy.

On his first night inside he had crawled into a ball and cried silently. Cried for finally being free and for losing his freedom at the same time. And as his tears hit his hands, he could see them turning red and tainting his skin.

Blood, so much blood. And it was never coming off.

\----

At the age of twenty-four, Murtagh Morzansson had been in prison for nearly six years. He still woke up every night with a scream ringing in his ears and the smell of his father's blood choking him.

Murtagh hated to look into the mirror. His hair had been relatively short when he had gotten in. It had been a mess that had fallen around his eyes and ears, but now it was long. He kept it back in a low ponytail, the tip of it tickling the back of his neck. He had refused to cut it any shorter.

His eyes had become cold and dead during his stay. They were still the same hazel colour, but duller somehow. Darker. And while his hair stayed dark brown, every time he looked into the mirror he saw something else. He saw cold grey eyes, greyish brown hair and a sneer. He saw his father.

So he stopped looking into the mirror. He didn't care that he got stubbles; he shaved only when he wanted to.

Murtagh had no visitors except his attorney. The only friend he had ever had had moved away when they had been twelve and he hadn't seen him since. He forbade his mentor to come. Tornac was too sick anyway, and seeing Murtagh would only make him worse. Tornac was therefore the only one he called.

The inmates didn't know what he had done, why he was there. They knew he had killed someone; Murtagh was in a high security prison after all, but they didn't know who. The guards only called him by his convict-number and said nothing that gave away his identity.

When Murtagh had been convicted, the attorney had somehow fixed him a deal. Since the trial and murder had been so well covered, though Murtagh's name had never been mentioned, he would not be well received in prison. His attorney had then made sure that the guards would address him differently. But because of this deal, he had been shipped straight to the state prison after the trial rather than to stay in the holding cell for another month. But even so, his stay in Urû'baen Maximum Security Prison had been relatively boring.

Until that day, that was. On his 1979th day inside, everything changed.

"I'm getting out?" Murtagh spoke huskily, softly and yet clearly. He didn't speak much, and so his voice stayed that way.

"You'll be out in two months," his attorney Hrothgar Darr said with a slight hint of excitement.

"Why?"

"You're getting out on good behaviour," Hrothgar said and smiled.

Murtagh just blinked. Good behaviour? Well, he hadn't started any fights and hadn't fought back when the guards had mocked him. Even though they had kept his identity secret, they had mocked him whenever they could. And he had followed every protocol to the letter...

Murtagh still wasn't sure. They had nearly given him twenty-one years, but since he had just been eighteen and hadn't been found guilty of premeditated murder, he had just gotten twelve. But he had seen the look on the jury's faces, the glimmer in the judge's eyes...they didn't trust him, and they never would.

"You'll have to stay out of trouble for two years, but then you'll be a free man."

Murtagh laughed hollowly. "I will never be free, Darr," he spoke softly. "Never."

The other man didn't answer.

\----

The last two months passed slowly. Murtagh dreaded the time when he would have to leave. He knew what would happen when he stepped outside; he would be branded as a murderer and a lunatic. There was no life for him outside in the 'free' world.

Murtagh shaved himself completely the day before his release and cut his hair so that it fell just over his shoulders. He still tugged it back into a ponytail, but it was a change nonetheless.

Murtagh stepped out into the sun and towards his attorney and his car with 2040 days in prison under his belt. He looked different, and he didn't need to see the look on Hrothgar's face to confirm it.

His old clothes still fit him, as they had been very loose when he had come to the prison as an eighteen year old. But now the jeans hugged his legs and the t-shirt hung just perfectly around his shoulders. The jacket had been much too small, so Murtagh had simply tied it around his waist. He slowly slipped into the car and waited.

The ride started off in a tense silence. Murtagh leaned back and closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids he could still see the red of spilt blood.

"I got a job for you," Hrothgar said softly.

"You didn't have to," Murtagh spoke quietly, not opening his eyes.

"It's a part of your recovery program," Hrothgar replied, sounding both grave and amused somehow.

Murtagh didn't comment. He should have guessed.

"You'll be working in a bar," the other man continued. "I was able to get you the night shift, but the manager said that your hours will change with time."

"Is that a safe place for someone like me?" Murtagh murmured softly.

"A bar? You were cleared of all charges against your mental health; you shouldn't get scolded for working in such a place."

Murtagh opened his eyes. He stared at his attorney blankly. "The judge will not think so."

"The judge doesn't hold any power over you anymore," Hrothgar said quickly, angrily.

"The police then," Murtagh said and looked away.

"I've spoken to the district chief and he approved," the other man said in an almost whisper.

Murtagh frowned.

"The judge agreed to move you to a different city. You'll be living in Carvahall from now on," Hrothgar said and took his eyes off the road to look at Murtagh quickly. "I think you'll like it."

Murtagh didn't. He had a very bad feeling, one very akin to the one he had had the night he had come home and ended up with doing the thing that still haunted him in his sleep.

As Hrothgar drove on, Murtagh continued to dread what the future could bring.

\----

Murtagh stood in his apartment, looking around himself with a slight disinterest, though it was much better than he had feared.

It had a small living room with a kitchenette, a bathroom and a bedroom. Hrothgar had sent his old things to him; the little that Morzan's family had let him have. Mostly it was old books, old school supplies, clothes that no longer fit him and small tokens he couldn't even remember owning.

Hrothgar had told him that Tornac had bought or donated everything else in the apartment; the bed, the table and chairs, the kitchen supplies and small oddities. The TV had apparently been Murtagh's. Murtagh was surprised it still worked. Tornac had even bought him a laptop.

Murtagh sat down in an old couch that Tornac had donated to him. It was worn in and smelled of his old friend. He closed his eyes and, for the first time in six years, didn't see blood.

\----

He woke up screaming at 6 a.m.

Murtagh shot up in bed and tried to calm his racing heart. He hadn't screamed in six years. He hadn't felt comfortable enough or alone enough to let them out. But here, inside his own apartment where no one could hear him, the screams came.

He got up and got ready for a new day. The years in prison had taught him to be efficient and quick, so he was always ready in record time. That was one of the ways he had avoided getting raped in the showers.

Murtagh felt oddly uncomfortable as he stepped into the living room. There were still boxes around in the room, and it still smelled stale and unlived in. He hurriedly changed into something that fit, grabbed his keys and walked out.

\----

He ended up walking around the town a few times. It was a small town, one where everyone without a doubt knew everyone. Murtagh already felt uncomfortable. People with surely notice that he was new, that he didn't fit in. He dreaded shopping already.

He walked around until the shops started to open. Then he bought a pastry from a small pastry shop before entering a clothing store. He excited a half hour later, his arms loaded with bags and an uncomfortable scowl on his lips. He was already starting to dislike the town.

He made a quick pit stop at the apartment before going into a hardware store to buy other necessities. Then he did his groceries before walking back.

Around him the town was truly starting to wake up. There was a college there, something that surprised Murtagh, and the students were starting to mill around on the grounds by the time he was done. Other people were starting to walk around, and he could hear the laughs of children coming from the local primary school.

Murtagh continued to feel out of place.

\----

When Tornac visited, Murtagh wasn't only surprised; he was caught off-guard. He quickly ushered the man inside and sat him down.

"I'm not breakable, Murtagh. I can manage just fine," Tornac protested.

"But your cancer," Murtagh countered.

"I've had many treatments during your time inside," Tornac said and smiled softly.

Murtagh found himself unable to keep his eyes off his friend as he spoke. Tornac still had the wrinkles around his eyes from smiling. The dirty blond hair was still in place, despite the several chemotherapies. Murtagh suspected it had been allowed to grow in-between sessions. There were specks of grey in it now, though. But Tornac's grey eyes were still alive and sparkling. Even though his skin was white and pale from the illness, he still looked as alive as ever.

"You're still not cured, though."

"I had a relapse," Tornac said quietly. "But the doctors think that they got all of it this time."

Murtagh clasped his hands together, not caring that his hold was so tight that it was starting to hurt.

"But you live here, now?" Murtagh asked.

"That I do," Tornac smiled. "There's a speciality clinic right here in Carvahall, so after you...went away, I moved here."

He looked away.

"I've been getting a lot of help these past six years. I might win this fight yet, Murtagh."

Murtagh smiled sadly. "If anyone can win over cancer, it's you, Tornac."

Tornac laughed merrily. "That's the spirit!"

Murtagh raked his hands through his hair tiredly. It was slightly greasy; he needed to shower soon. He was still not used to being able to shower whenever he wanted to.

"How do you find Carvahall so far?" Tornac asked.

Murtagh looked up. He couldn't lie to his friend; he had never been able to. "I don't fit in, Tornac. This is a small town. People are actually genuinely nice here! This is no place for me, for a criminal..." _For a murderer._

"Just give it time, Murtagh. Just give it time."

Murtagh looked down at his clenched hands. He examined the tiny half-moon impressions his nails had left behind. None of them bled, but if he stared hard enough, he could imagine that they were.

\----

"PTSD?"

The doctor before him nodded. Murtagh frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is not as uncommon as people think," the doctor said and scribbled something down on a pad.

Murtagh shook his head softly. It was wrong, just wrong. "But -"

"People who have witnessed murders sometimes struggle afterwards with nightmares and visions," the doctor said and held out a prescription. "This should help you sleep better at night."

Murtagh pursed his lips. "Witnessed? What if it was the murderer that was having the nightmares?"

The doctor shifted slightly. Murtagh could tell he was uncomfortable.

"That is not too uncommon either, especially in the cases where the murderer feels remorse."

Murtagh smiled sadly. He stood up, not taking the prescription out of the doctor's hand. "And if the murderer doesn't?"

He left the doctor to stare after him in shock.

\----

"You should have taken the prescription," Tornac said tiredly.

Murtagh looked at his friends while he rubbed his arms. Tornac had visited just in time to hear him wake up from another nightmare.

"I don't need meds to sleep," Murtagh said quietly.

"You're waking up to hear yourself scream," Tornac scolded.

Murtagh pursed his lips and looked away. Tornac sighed.

"You should go back and get another."

"I refuse."

Tornac let out a loud sigh of frustration.

"By now every doctor will know that they have a murderer living in their town," Murtagh spoke huskily.

"You told the doctor?" Tornac shook his head and slid tiredly into a chair. "But you know he can't pass the information on; doctor-patient confidentiality. And if he does, you can prosecute him."

Murtagh laughed humourlessly. "And who would take a case with a murderer standing in the place of the offended?"

The older man sent him a disapproving glare.

"I'll be fine, Tornac."

Tornac did not look convinced. But that was alright. Murtagh wasn't convinced either.

\----

Murtagh had been staying in Carvahall for a week when he got a call from his new boss. The woman on the phone had told him that he could start working the following evening. Murtagh wrote down the time and location of the bar. He needed to get there early. The boss wanted to meet with him first, no doubt to inspect him.

Murtagh could already see the job slipping through his fingers. Who wanted to hire a murderer?

Nonetheless, he dressed in what he vaguely remembered to be passable attire for a bar and made his way over there with time to spare. He looked up at the bar, checked that it was the right one, and stepped inside.

He was instantly hit with a feeling of home. The atmosphere radiated of comfort and familiarity. It was a place to get hammered, sure, but it was a local and well-loved place. Murtagh once again felt out of place.

"Can I help you, sweetheart?" the girl behind the bar said and smiled flirtatiously.

"I'm looking for Arya Elve," Murtagh said nonchalantly.

"Oh," the girl looked disappointed. "She's in the back."

Murtagh gave the girl a slight nod before going in the direction she had pointed. He knocked on a slightly ajar door and entered when a distinctly female voice answered.

"Ms Elve?"

She couldn't have been much older than himself, he noticed. She was a very pretty woman with soft white skin and ink black hair. Her green eyes twinkled up at him from behind her desk.

"Mr Morann, I presume?" she said and stood up.

Murtagh nodded and shook her hand. The first thing his attorney had done was to get him a new last name. The murder case was still very fresh in many people's minds, so Hrothgar and Tornac had wanted to give him a slightly fresher start.

She gestured for him to take a seat.

"Thank you for coming over on such short notice. I would have called you earlier, but we had an incident and I misplaced your number," she shook her head.

"That's quite alright," Murtagh replied, his voice still husky from his time inside. Or maybe he had simply grown up, and his voice would stay that way? He couldn't be sure.

"Do you have anything against working from nine to three?" Arya asked and wrote something down on a piece of paper. "We're a little short-staffed during the last shift here."

Murtagh shook his head soundlessly.

"Great! And you can start tonight?"

"Yes," Murtagh replied quietly.

"Good. Now, since you don't have a serving licence, you'll be cleaning tables tonight," Arya said and stood up. "I've scheduled for you to get your licence next week, if that's alright by you."

Murtagh just nodded.

"Brilliant. Now, let me introduce you to the rest of the staff."

Murtagh blocked out the rest of her speech. He could read lips just fine; he would still catch what she was saying. But until she said something really important, he preferred his silence.

The stuffiness inside the bar was already starting to get to him. There was too much noise, too many voices...

He needed to save the little sanity he had left somehow, and silence was the only way he would be able to do that.

\----

Murtagh woke up with bile itching in his throat and tears pricking in his eyes. He ran to the bathroom and threw up.

The sounds and smells had really gotten to him that night. After his shift he had been so tired that he had fallen asleep the moment his head had hit the pillow. His dreams had been excruciatingly vivid.

He flushed the toilet and stumbled to the sink to wash the taste out of his mouth. He could still feel the blood staining him, seeping into his skin and into his soul. He forced the images down as he rinsed his mouth.

He shut off the tap and ran a wet hand through his hair. He looked up and into the mirror by mistake.

The screams and voices rang in his ears. The face before him melted into that of that man. Then Murtagh saw grey skin, hollow eyes and decaying flesh. And blood, lots and lots of blood. He turned around and threw up again.

\----

Murtagh continued to work at the bar. It was not a place he would have picked to work in himself, but he knew it was probably his only shot.

Slowly he started to build up a new routine. He would shop for groceries once a week, usually on Thursdays and he showered every other day. He had finally gotten his serving licence and was allowed to work behind the counter. But if asked, he would rather clean the tables and the bar after closing.

Tornac came to see him once a week. Once a month he had to get in touch with his parole officer, a kind man he only knew as Officer Ajihad Black. Hrothgar would call occasionally to ask how he was and Murtagh would answer politely. He wondered why the older man still kept in touch with him, though.

He didn't make any new friends in his apartment complex or at work. If he saw Arya on the street he would simply nod politely. She would smile back. There was someone on the staff that wouldn't let him be, in her own way. Nasuada Black was her name. Murtagh didn't bother to tell her to go away. But then again, there were a lot of things he didn't bother to do.

"Ah, so this is here you hide when you're not working."

Murtagh sighed softly. He heard her sit down beside him on the bench. He just continued to stare ahead. Around them the park was buzzing with life; birds singing, laughing children and their scolding parents alike. It was late autumn and people were walking out of the church across the street. The Sunday mass was apparently over.

"You just sit here?" Nasuada asked softly.

Murtagh pursed his lips. He just continued to stare at the church, though his gaze shifted slightly to the graves around it. He hadn't been to his father's funeral. He didn't even know where the man was buried.

"I just sit here," Murtagh replied after a long silence.

"During these two months I have wondered why someone like you are doing in boring little Carvahall," Nasuada said and shifted in her seat.

"I know I don't fit in."

"Oh, I wasn't saying that," Nasuada said. Murtagh could feel her staring at him. "I mean, Carvahall is so full of noise and chatter, and I don't think I've ever encountered a quieter guy than you."

"My mentor, he lives here," Murtagh said, though it didn't quite answer her question.

"So you moved here for his sake?"

Murtagh shifted to look at her. Nasuada was a beautiful young woman. Her soft black hair was held back in a short ponytail and her dark eyes never wavered from him. She seemed soft, but he knew she was tough. You couldn't work in a bar without showing some strength, and Nasuada had plenty.

"...You could say that," Murtagh said and looked away again.

"Does he need your help? Is he sick, maybe?" Nasuada asked, sounding almost eerily insightful.

"He's getting better," he said and watched a leaf get ripped from a tree by the wind and slowly fall to the ground. Slowly, slowly. He felt a stab of pain when he noticed that it was red.

"So that's not it?"

He didn't answer.

"Murtagh, you're avoiding my questions," Nasuada said and sighed. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"No," Murtagh said and pushed himself slowly to his feet. "But my answers would make you uncomfortable."

Nasuada stood as well. "Murtagh?"

"It was nice talking to you," he said nonchalantly. "I'll see you at work."

He walked away before she could even utter another word.

\----

"Whatever happened to that young boy you used to play with?" Tornac asked one afternoon.

Murtagh curled his hands around the warm cup. Tornac had dragged him out to have lunch an hour earlier. Tornac was finally starting to look a lot better. His hair was almost at the same length that Murtagh could remember from his childhood.

"Who?"

Murtagh knew who he was speaking of, but didn't want to admit it. He wasn't sure if he could remember the boy's name anymore.

"That red haired, gangly kid," Tornac said and took a sip of his cup of tea. "He would always drag you out to play soccer."

Murtagh licked his lips. "We lost contact after he moved. I haven't heard from him since."

"What was his name, though?" Tornac frowned slightly. "Thorn something, I think..."

Murtagh just shrugged.

"Maybe you should get in touch? Getting out is about starting anew, Murtagh."

"I don't remember his last name, Tornac, let alone where he moved to," he said softly.

Tornac's eyes twinkled merrily.

The cup stopped halfway up to his mouth. Murtagh frowned. "Have you found him?"

The older man laughed. He drank the rest of his tea and put enough money to cover their meal and the tip on the table. Murtagh drank the last of his coffee and threw on his jacket. Tornac led him out of the diner and across the street.

"Where are you taking me?" Murtagh asked, surprising himself slightly as he did so. He usually didn't ask questions that were going to be answered later anyway.

Tornac just winked.

Murtagh stuffed his hands into his pockets. He didn't wear gloves. He didn't like the feel of something covering his hands.

The older man led him to the college. Another hour had struck and plenty of students were leaving the building, chatting about the lectures they had just been to. Murtagh watched it all with only a mild hint of interest. He could barely remember what it was like, studying, having people around him constantly that challenged him. He wasn't sure if he could ever do that again.

He hadn't taken an education in prison. It didn't suit him, he had decided, and that way he could also be more alone.

Tornac stopped and turned to face him. He nodded towards the college, silently asking him to look. Murtagh sighed and did so.

If Tornac hadn't brought his childhood friend up, Murtagh would probably never have noticed him. But now he did. A tall and muscled redhead was walking with his arm around a blonde girl. She was laughing and he looked happy. Even from across the street, Murtagh could imagine Thorn's golden eyes sparkling with happiness, like they had done the few times Murtagh had come along willingly to play.

Murtagh looked away.

"His name, as you might remember now, is Thorn Marron, and that's his soon-to-be fiancée Saphira Drake," Tornac said. "He's majoring in criminal psychology, she in photography."

Murtagh blinked. He looked over at Tornac sceptically. "You've talked to him."

"Briefly," Tornac admitted. "I bumped into Thorn in the hospital. It was during my time in a wheelchair. He was kind enough to help me and we started to talk," he paused. "He remembers you."

His hair got into his eyes as he bowed his head. The dark strands were clouding his vision and ticking his nose. If he hadn't respected Tornac so, he would have left already.

"He's better off just remembering me," Murtagh said in a near whisper. "I'm not the boy I used to be."

Murtagh could remember scuffles, loud laughter and sarcastic comments. He remembered Thorn standing up for him when the other kids had mocked him once. Thorn had been his rock back then, but then he had left and Murtagh had been alone.

He smiled sadly. "If you meet him again, tell him I said goodbye," Murtagh said and held out his hand to Tornac.

Tornac sighed sadly, but took it nonetheless. Tornac laid a hand on Murtagh's shoulder, grasping it tightly before letting go. Murtagh nodded and left.

\----

"So, you're having nightmares?"

Murtagh nodded.

Tornac had booked the appointment for him. He had tried to get out of it, but Tornac had looked so disappointed that Murtagh had caved. So there he was, sitting in another shrink's office, waiting for another judgement to be passed.

He wondered what this one would say he was.

"What are they about?" the woman asked.

Angela was her name, according to her nameplate. Angela Vitch. She had soft red blond hair that was brushed back in frizzy curls. The colour of her eyes weren't quite visible behind her glasses.

"My father's murder," Murtagh replied huskily.

His voice was going to stay like that, he noted. But it didn't bother him. He was used to it.

Angela wrote something down on her pad. "What do you see?"

"Blood," Murtagh replied honestly. "My father screaming at me, his gray face as he lies dead on the floor, more blood..."

Angela looked up. Her glasses got a stripe of white from the light above them. He couldn't see her eyes anymore.

"How long have you been having these nightmares?" she asked softly.

"Six years."

"Do you ever see the killer?"

Murtagh looked at her blankly. "No, just the blood on my hands." _It's also hard to see yourself in your dreams._

She nodded gravely. She took off her glasses and looked at him. Blue green; that was the colour of her eyes. More blue than green though.

"Have you been prescribed any medication before?" she asked.

Murtagh shook his head. He didn't deserve any medication, and he didn't want any either.

"How long ago was it that your father was murdered?" Angela asked, folding her hands on top of her pad.

"Six years," he replied again.

"Did they catch the killer?" she tilted her head.

"Yes."

"Have you been to see him, found out why he did it?" she asked with a small frown.

"I see him every day in the mirror," he told her quietly. "And I ask him the question every day. I still haven't gotten an answer."

Angela's eyes widened minutely.

He left the room with a new appointment for the following week and a crumpled prescription in his hand. He shredded the paper and threw it away, not even looking back to meet the surprised gaze of the person in the waiting room.

\----

Murtagh looked away from the college whenever he would pass it. There were times when he felt eyes on him, but knew it was all in his head.

His nightmares continued. He had thrown up twice since the last time. He still didn't regret throwing away the prescription.

He still went to the park whenever he could. Snow was starting to fall heavily as Christmas approached. He still stared at the church and the graves when he came there.

"Murtagh?"

He didn't know that voice. If he didn't know it, he could ignore it. The night had been particularly rough, and he didn't wish to speak to anyone. He dreaded his shift at the bar later.

Snow crunched under the boots as whoever it was came closer. Murtagh closed his eyes and wished he was somewhere else. The dull colour of the sky didn't reflect as harshly against his eyelids. He almost couldn't see the blood that usually was there.

"Murtagh." Not a question anymore; a statement.

Murtagh looked up. His eyes widened.

Before he knew what was happening, he was pulled out of his seat and into a large bear hug. The man that was hugging him pulled back and smiled at him.

"It is you!"

Murtagh wished he hadn't come.

"How have you been?" the redhead asked and tugged him back down onto the bench, brushing away some snow to sit down himself. "It's been, what, twelve years?" Thorn laughed.

"It has," Murtagh replied softly. "I've been alright. You?"

Murtagh couldn't help but to listen as Thorn rambled on about how he had moved to Dras Leona, and how he had decided to go to Carvahall College because it had the best course in criminal psychology. Murtagh almost appreciated the irony. Thorn told him more about Saphira, how they had met at the student campus and how they had been dating for four years.

"But you, you have gone quiet over the years," Thorn finished with a smirk. "We've switched roles."

Murtagh's face hardened slightly. Maybe they had.

"What have you been doing for these last few years?" Thorn asked.

It pained him that Thorn actually seemed genuinely curious, like he actually still cared. He didn't want to answer. Murtagh knew that would only bring unhappiness.

"I graduated from high school, took some time off, and then moved here," he paused. "Tornac suggested this town to me."

"It truly is one of the best places in Alagaësia," Thorn said with a grin. "So you still keep in touch with Tornac?"

"Yes," Murtagh said huskily. "He helped me find a place here."

The redhead grinned. "I'm glad you finally got away from your old man. I never liked him."

Murtagh looked away. So Tornac hadn't told him.

"Murtagh?"

"I got away from him, alright," Murtagh said, feeling surprised when he recognised a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"What happened?" Thorn asked with worry plain in his voice.

"He died."

Thorn was rendered silent for a minute. "How?"

Murtagh leaned forward and clasped his hands together tightly. "He was killed."

Murtagh stiffened when he felt a hand pat his shoulder comfortingly. "I'd say I was sorry -"

He turned to look at him. Thorn frowned slightly when their eyes met.

"Don't...don't say you're sorry," Murtagh licked his lips. "I'm not."

Thorn gave a half-smile. It looked strained. Murtagh couldn't blame him.

The wind blew past them. Murtagh left with a promise to call the other later and a number crumbled at the bottom of his pocket.

He wondered if he would.

\----

"Hello again, Murtagh."

Murtagh didn't like her false cheerfulness. Didn't she remember their last meeting? Or maybe that was why she had to fake her happiness.

He stared blankly at the shrink. She looked back softly.

"Have you had any nightmares since our last meeting?" she asked.

She was fiddling with the pen in her hand. She was nervous.

"Yes."

The fiddling stopped. She wrote something down. "How often do you have nightmares?" she asked afterwards.

"Every night," Murtagh tilted his head.

"Even with your medication?" Angela asked suspiciously.

Murtagh just blinked. "I threw it away."

Angela sighed. "You need to sleep properly at night, or your body will break down," she said gravely. "I'll write you a new prescription."

"I don't want it," Murtagh said coldly.

Angela looked up. She looked at him over her glasses. He wondered what she thought of him. He certainly wasn't helping his case, he knew that. And still he continued to talk.

"I managed without it in prison."

Angela pursed her lips. "You didn't tell the guards or the medic, did you?"

"Nothing to tell," Murtagh said nonchalantly.

"Murtagh," she let out a sigh of frustration. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"I don't care," he said and looked away.

Angela wrote something new down. He didn't see it, but he could hear the pen scratch against the paper.

"Tornac thinks very fondly of you. If you refuse to do this for your sake, then do it for him."

He looked at her sharply. Angela removed her glasses and let them dingle between two fingers.

"Having cancer isn't easy, Murtagh. He's been to see me ever since he got here," she spoke softly. "That is all I can and will tell you."

Murtagh scowled.

"But we aren't here to talk about Tornac," she put her glasses back on. "We're here to talk about you."

He couldn't see her eyes anymore. She flicked her pen. She was nervous again. People still saw him as a monster.

"You said the last time that you see your father's murderer in the mirror every day," she began calmly.

"Yes," he interrupted. He hated it when the shrinks sounded so patronizing. "I see myself; my father's killer. It's all in my file. I killed him when I was eighteen, and I still see myself in the mirror."

Angela nodded softly. "But you don't know why you did it?"

"I..." Murtagh looked away. "I don't know why I caved that specific night."

\----

Tornac said that he was improving. Murtagh didn't see it.

He had been living in Carvahall for three months. During that time he had been to the shrink four times, the doctor once, worked in the bar for nearly three months and had called Thorn twice. He had only seen Thorn once, though. Thorn was busy with school, and Murtagh liked to pretend he was busy too.

He didn't want to meet him again so soon.

"So, what were you in for?"

Murtagh looked at the other man suspiciously. He had short orange-red hair with a forelock that nearly covered his eyes. Grey eyes twinkled up at him. Murtagh pursed his lips.

"What makes you say that?" he asked softly.

Orrin Sudra worked with him on the nightshift. It was the last hour before closing and not many were left in the bar.

"I was in for drunk and driving myself," Orrin said, not quite answering the question. "I got six months. Even so, you pick up on the ones that have been inside."

Murtagh put away the bottles on the counter and rubbed away the moisture that had collected under them.

"So?"

Murtagh continued to clean up a rather nasty spill from earlier that night. He was sure that was going to leave a stain.

"I don't want to talk about it," Murtagh replied finally.

"Ah," Orrin nodded. "That bad, huh?"

Murtagh didn't comment. Orrin walked away.

"Murtagh?"

Murtagh wanted to swear. It was a new feeling. Or rather, the rebirth of an old feeling. He just wanted people to leave him alone.

"Was Orrin right?" Nasuada asked carefully, softly, like he was an animal posed to strike. "Is that what you didn't want to tell me?"

He didn't answer.

"People here don't mind ex-cons, Murtagh," Nasuada said gently. "Orrin isn't the only one in town that had to go to prison for a short while."

"It wasn't short with me," he said simply and walked around the counter to collect bottles from the tables around in the bar.

"I can tell."

He glared at her. It was a strange feeling. He was actually annoyed.

"You're uncomfortable around people, you don't speak a lot...I've seen it before," Nasuada bit her lip.

"No, you haven't," he said sternly.

He turned back to his work. She didn't bother him again that night.


	2. Methanol

Murtagh sat in the waiting room. He didn’t know why he kept coming back, but it probably had something to do with Tornac’s urging. Thorn had found out somehow, and while he didn’t know the whole story, Thorn had urged him to go too.

Murtagh hated waiting rooms. He had spent a lot of his childhood in them, waiting for a doctor to become available and check his broken bones and too deep cuts. While the room he was in didn’t smell like a hospital, it felt the same.

The magazines beside him had been flipped through again and again. He didn’t bother to check how old they were. Behind the reception, the girl blew a bubble with her gum and smacked it back into her mouth.

He looked down at his hands. They were slightly dry. He needed to start using lotion. Murtagh dreaded the extra trip to the store later.

Before him the door opened and a teenager stepped outside. Murtagh only saw soft brown hair and a fierce blush before the teenager was gone. Murtagh wasn’t even sure if they had been male or female.

“Murtagh?” Angela stood in the doorway, waving him in.

He stood up and slowly walked inside. He sat down on the couch and waited.

“How are you this week?”

“The same,” he replied dully.

“Still having nightmares?” she asked.

“Yes. But it’s been a while since I’ve been sick.” Murtagh froze. Had he just willingly given out information? Well, never again.

From behind her desk Angela stared at him worriedly. “You get sick?”

Murtagh just nodded. “Four times so far.”

“Murtagh, you should have told me sooner,” Angela said sternly. “You need some medica-”

“No,” Murtagh said firmly. “I don’t.”

Angela sighed. “It’s not a bad thing, Murtagh.”

He didn’t comment.

-:-

Murtagh hadn’t slept that night. It had been the anniversary of his father’s death. He refused to sleep after what had happened on the one year anniversary. The nightmares had been so bad that night that his medical records now showed one suicide attempt.

Murtagh walked around the graveyard just as the day was dawning. He was imagining how the people there had died. Had this person been killed perhaps? Or was it an illness? He noted how old some of the tombstones were and how well kept they were.

He hadn’t been to visit his mother in six years, and he would have to wait another two. He doubted he would be allowed to leave town just to visit his mother’s grave.

“Talking to the dead?”

He didn’t reply. He was too busy staring at the grave of someone who had died that very day some years ago. How unlucky they were; to pass just before New Year’s.

A strong hand grasped his shoulder. He looked at it. A hand at that size could only mean one person. “A little early to be up and about, isn’t it, Thorn?”

“Says you,” Thorn snorted.

Murtagh let the hand slip off his shoulder. He slouched and walked away from the grave and towards the gate. Thorn fell into step beside him.

“Thinking about your mom again?” the redhead asked.

Murtagh didn’t question Thorn’s insightfulness. He had been lurking around the graveyard in his childhood; always tidying his mother’s stone or just talking to her.

“I haven’t been to see her in six years,” Murtagh said quietly.

“Really? What kept you?” the other asked.

Murtagh looked at the ground. “I...” he paused. “I was in prison.”

Thorn stopped walking. Murtagh took one more step before turning around. Thorn’s eyes were wide and unblinking.

“For my father’s murder,” Murtagh whispered into the wind. “I killed him, Thorn.”

He didn’t know what it was, but suddenly it felt like something inside of him was breaking. He clenched his eyes shut and swallowed down the bile. A sob was torn from his throat and just before he met the cold slippery ground, he felt Thorn’s arms around him, holding him up. Murtagh reached out and didn’t let go.

-:-

“I know what you want to ask me,” Murtagh said one day in January.

He had been to see Angela almost a dozen times. Since then she had focused on getting him to open up about his nightmares and trying to persuade him into taking some sleeping pills. She had touched upon his childhood, but Murtagh had closed her out in an instant.

Angela looked up from her notepad. She raised an eyebrow and put down her pen. “And what might that be?”

“Why did I do it?”

Angela blinked. Her hand gripped the pen again as she gazed at him from over her glasses.

“You told me that you don’t know that answer,” she said softly.

“I don’t know why I killed him that night, no,” Murtagh said and clenched his hands in his lap. “But I know what led up to it.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

Murtagh just looked at her. Angela coughed a little awkwardly and leaned back, obviously waiting for him.

“When the police found me I was drenched in blood. Some of it was my fathers, some of it was mine,” he began quietly. “He attacked me first, but it was me that made sure that attack would be the last.”

Silence.

“He started to abuse me when my mother died. She died when I was only three, I can’t remember – don’t remember how,” he licked his lips. “First he started to beat me furiously. It took him some time, but over the years he learned to beat me so that no one could tell, or if they could, it could be passed off as an accident.”

The couch creaked when he leaned forward, his hair hanging into his eyes.

“The sexual abuse started when I turned thirteen. I had just lost my best friend, I was all alone, and my mother’s insurance money was all but gone, same with my college fund,” his knuckles were turning white under his tight grip. “Mostly he would sell me to his friends, but there were times when he would come to me too. And I could only take so much of it. The year I turned eighteen, I had had enough. I decided that I was going to leave,” he snapped his head up, glaring into her eyes. “But he wasn’t going to let me. I wanted to go to college outside of the city, but he refused. One night we were yelling loudly and he turned a knife on me.”

A half-choked sound escaped his lips. He couldn’t tell what it was supposed to have been. He looked back down.

“And somehow...somehow he ended up dead on the floor,” he swallowed. “I-I don’t really remember how it happened, but I remember that; seeing him dead on the floor before me.”

A tear slid down his cheek. He brushed it away angrily. He froze when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into Angela’s sombre face and blinked when a piece of paper was shoved into his hand.

“Come see me again next week, same time,” she said simply and ushered him out the door. “You did well today, Murtagh.”

Murtagh just clenched his fist around the paper and stalked out of the building.

-:-

“I told her,” Murtagh said blankly. “I told her everything.”

The other man remained silent.

“I told her what my father had done to me, _everything_ that he had done to me, how...” he choked down a sob. “What led up to it...just _everything_.”

“Why didn’t you tell **me**?”

“By the time my father started to truly abuse me, you were gone,” Murtagh said darkly. “And before then, a bruise here and there didn’t matter.”

“You could have told me that he broke your leg instead of lying and saying that you fell down the stairs!!”

“I was a child; I didn’t think it mattered,” he sighed.

“Well, it would have mattered,” the other muttered.

Murtagh fell silent.

“Why didn’t you run away?”

Murtagh laughed hollowly. “I tried so many times that I lost count. But he only caught me in the end and punished me until I could hardly walk.”

A frustrated sigh. “You should have tried to get in touch with me.”

Murtagh looked up and glared at the other man. “What difference would it have made?”

“My parents could have called social service,” Thorn said sternly.

“He would have wormed his way out of it. My father was sneaky like that.”

“But Murtagh, he hurt you! He hurt you before my eyes. Do you know how that makes me feel?” Thorn said quietly, brokenly.

Murtagh looked away.

“I wouldn’t have looked at you like you were weak.”

Murtagh glanced up at him. They both recognised the lie, but neither mentioned it.

-:-

“I told my best friend a few days ago,” Murtagh said softly.

Angela had her hands folded on top of the desk. She seemed calmer somehow; more comfortable around him. He wondered why.

“And how did he take it?”

“He wondered why I hadn’t told him earlier.”

“Why hadn’t you?”

Murtagh frowned. “Before coming here, I hadn’t seen him in twelve years.”

Angela nodded sombrely. “How is the relationship between you now?”

“Healing,” he said huskily. “But we still have a lot to forgive.”

She didn’t comment.

“He feels like I’ve betrayed him, I felt like he abandoned me. I...” he looked down. “I need to forgive myself.”

“We all have secrets, Murtagh. It doesn’t make you any less of a person to have a few of your own, no matter how dark they are,” she told him.

He continued to look down.

“Do you think that you will tell anyone else?” she murmured gently.

He looked at her sharply. He didn’t answer, and he didn’t need to either.

-:-

Carvahall, despite its almost cosy looking exterior, had its issues. The primary school was slightly run down, some of the walls around town had graffiti on them, a few buildings could use some serious restoring, and the park on the southern end was never safe at night.

Murtagh was walking around the southern end close to dusk. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but his apartment was choking him. He had needed to get out of there.

Valentine’s Day was approaching, but he didn’t care. He had never been in a serious relationship. He had never been in a relationship, period. Besides, Valentine’s Day was just another excuse for Hallmark to sell tons of goods. He didn’t feel guilty for not enjoying the day with everyone else.

Murtagh sighed and turned around. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and stared straight ahead as he walked. He was close to the town’s square when something happened. He heard shouting and the sound of an alarm going off. He frowned and looked across the street. Someone was robbing a store.

Murtagh felt his heart stop in his chest. The alarm was ringing; the police would be coming soon! He started to hyperventilate.

He ran.

-:-

The newspaper was advertising for witnesses of the robbery to come forward. Murtagh felt sick. He stared at the paper for a long time before throwing it away.

Murtagh sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. He stayed there for hours.

The day had meant to be a good one. Tornac had called him earlier with good news. The doctors had finally declared him cured of the cancer. Thorn had told him earlier that week that he would be proposing to Saphira, and he had continued to talk forever about how nervous he was. Murtagh had just given him a pat on the shoulder and wished him luck.

But now, now everything seemed so dark. He needed to call his parole officer; it was that time of the month again. But he knew what the other man would say; _had he seen the robbery? If he had, he would have to come down to the station._ It wasn’t going to look good on his file if he came down to the station.

Murtagh let out a soft whimper. He just wanted to be left alone!

-:-

Eventually he had managed to call Ajihad. Ajihad hadn’t mentioned the robbery and the call had been short and to the point. Murtagh felt relieved when he hung up.

Thorn called no more than a second later. Murtagh knew it was him because he remembered the number. Only five people called him; it was easy to remember those numbers. He didn’t answer right away.

“Hello?”

_“Saphira said yes! Can you believe it?! She said yes!!”_

Murtagh smiled sadly. “Congratulations,” he managed to utter. It didn’t sound sincere.

_“Are you alright, Murtagh?”_

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said huskily.

 _“Are you sure?”_ Thorn asked suspiciously.

“I’ll be fine,” Murtagh replied after a small pause.

 _“Better,”_ Thorn told him. _“You’ll have to meet her soon. I can’t believe you have managed to sneak out of meeting her for so long! You’ll love her, man.”_

Murtagh found it hard to believe that Thorn managed to sound so sincere in his wish for him and Saphira to meet. It was like he had forgiven him already.

But how could he have?

“I’m sure.”

 _“You’ll come to the wedding, right?”_ the other asked enthusiastically.

“...Yeah,” he licked his lips.

 _“Murtagh, I want you to be there,”_ Thorn said sincerely.

He gulped.

“Then I’ll be there.”

 _“Awesome!”_ He could hear the grin in Thorn’s voice. _“You can meet her this weekend! Just come to ‘The Traven’ around two. We’ll be waiting for you.”_

Murtagh licked his lips again. “Just you two, right?”

_“Just me and her.”_

Murtagh agreed to come and hung up. He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his forehead. He dreaded the meeting already.

-:-

Saphira was a very petite, but clearly powerful young woman. She was two years younger than Murtagh, making her three years younger than Thorn. Her hair seemed even blonder up close and her sapphire eyes twinkled with happiness. Murtagh could see the similar happiness in Thorn’s eyes and thought that Thorn was a very lucky guy indeed.

“Thorn has told me so much about you,” Saphira said with a smile, “but he forgot to mention how handsome you were.”

Thorn poked her with a glimmer in his eyes. Saphira grinned and slapped him playfully.

Murtagh just smiled awkwardly and sipped his coffee.

“So, what do you do, Murtagh?”

“I work in a bar,” he replied softly.

“Arya’s bar, actually,” Thorn shot in.

Saphira sent him a surprised look. “Really? And the other employees haven’t eaten you up yet?” she laughed.

Murtagh coughed.

“I’m kidding. Most of the staff there are either in a relationship or don’t swing your way.”

He just shrugged. He wouldn’t know. He didn’t pay attention to anyone around him, really. He didn’t see the point.

“How long have you been in Carvahall?” Saphira asked.

“Five months.”

“That explains why I haven’t seen you at the college,” she said and twirled the spoon around in her own cup. “You could have applied to start after Christmas, though.”

“College is not for me,” Murtagh said and crossed his arms over the lip of the table.

“Oh,” Saphira blushed softly. “I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth.”

“It’s alright,” he smirked softly.

Thorn sent him a small frown. He was probably wondering why Murtagh didn’t want to have an education. Murtagh sighed.

“I have a friend just like you, actually,” Saphira said absently. “He didn’t know what he wanted to do either, so he spent a year travelling around. I nearly killed him when he came back. The moron didn’t think to tell me he was leaving before he was already at the airport,” she shook her head. “He’s studying now, though.”

“Eragon did that?”

Saphira nodded.

Murtagh tried not to feel too out of place.

“I never saw him as the kind of guy to just take off like that,” Thorn mused.

“Me neither, and that for a good reason! I thought he was going to get himself killed! Thankfully he arrived back in one piece.”

Murtagh took another sip of his coffee and looked away.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Here we’re chatting on without you,” Saphira ginned sheepishly. “How rude of me.”

“It’s quite alright. I’m used to it,” he shrugged.

Saphira and Thorn didn’t look too pleased by his answer. Murtagh just blinked.

“Man, are you ever going to open up?” Thorn asked with a soft frown.

He replied with a one-armed shrug. He doubted it, but Thorn didn’t need to know that.

“What good is going to the shrink if she isn’t helping you?” Thorn growled. “No wait, scratch that. She is helping,” he shook his head. “I haven’t seen you smirk in...twelve years.”

“The shrink?” Saphira blinked. “Which?”

“Angela Vitch,” Murtagh said without hesitation. He didn’t care that he was going anymore.

“Ah,” Saphira smiled.

“What?” Thorn poked her again. “What’s with that smile?”

“Nothing,” she said and winked.

Murtagh looked away. It was something alright; she just didn’t want to say it in front of him.

“What do you go to her for?” Saphira said as she turned away from Thorn.

Murtagh stiffened.

Saphira slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh God, how rude of me! Forget I ever said that.”

He smiled a half-smile and lowered his gaze. They didn’t return to the subject afterwards.

-:-

“Saphira apologises, by the way.”

Murtagh sighed. “I heard you the first time, Thorn.”

Thorn just shrugged. “She told me to keep saying it until you forgave her.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Murtagh said and looked away.

“She knows she made you uncomfortable.”

“A lot of people make me uncomfortable.”

“But this is my fiancée!” Thorn exclaimed. “I want my best friend and my fiancée to get along!”

Murtagh stopped. He looked up at Thorn in wonderment. “Best friend?”

“Yes, you,” Thorn crocked an eyebrow. “There was never anyone else.”

“But why? How?! I’m a -” Murtagh forced himself to stop.

“It doesn’t change how I see you, or the fact that you’ll always be my best friend,” the redhead said and smiled.

Murtagh smiled back. It felt weird, but it was a start.

-:-

He was surprised when Saphira turned up at the bar a few days later. There were two guys with her, but the minute she spotted him she walked over.

“Listen -”

“It’s alright,” Murtagh interrupted her gently. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“But I feel horrible!” Saphira said leaned onto the counter. “I know I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” he repeated. “If you need to hear it, then fine, you’re forgiven.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “I really felt horrible. I had no right asking you that.”

“True, but it doesn’t matter,” Murtagh shrugged and put away the glass he had been cleaning. “I’ve been asked worse before.”

Saphira frowned. She shook her head and asked for three drinks. Murtagh soundlessly found two beers and began to make the third drink.

“I never got to ask you, do you like it here?” she asked as she slid the money over the counter.

“It’s alright,” he quickly gave back her change and waited for her to leave.

“I hope Angela’s helping you,” Saphira said. “I’m not going to lie and say you don’t need it. I know you do.”

“I know. And she is.”

Saphira smiled. “Later then!”

Murtagh sighed and went to take care of another customer. His eyes would wander back to Saphira’s table on occasions, though.

She was sitting with one brown haired and one blond guy. The three of them seemed like close friends. The brunet seemed to get teased a lot, though, especially by the other guy. Murtagh briefly wondered why, but quickly shook it off. It wasn’t like it mattered.

-:-

Murtagh woke up screaming. He clutched a hand over his heart and gasped in breath after breath. He closed his eyes tightly and gulped in more air.

He was breathing, he knew he was...then why did it feel like he was suffocating?!

He could hear screaming; but he couldn’t tell if the voice was his or his father’s. He could almost not hear the difference between them anymore. His entire body was shaking, shaking from the images that were still playing in his mind.

Blood, there had been so much blood. Choking him, drenching him, covering him, drowning him...it was everywhere. He could still remember the pain from where his father had struck him with the knife. He could still feel the cold tip of the metal pierce him as he continued to scream. Yes, Murtagh was sure it was his own screams he had heard.

He slowly opened his eyes. It was getting easier to breathe. He blinked and saw flickering red spots before his eyes. The room was filled with light, and when he blinked, the walls looked splashed with blood.

Murtagh got up sluggishly. He didn’t know what time it was, and he didn’t care. If someone was waiting for him then they could afford to wait a little longer.

He got ready a little more slowly than normal and moved into the living room. Not feeling particularly hungry thanks to his recent nightmare, he just fixed up some coffee before sitting down.

The couch no longer smelled of Tornac. It now smelled of something that had been spilled and something else Murtagh couldn’t identify.

He sipped his coffee and glanced out of the window. The spring was approaching, and the earth was awakening from its winter slumber. But still there was snow covering the world, making it look so pure. Murtagh’s eyes shifted from the window and to his mattered coffee table. A small blue book was lying on the surface. Murtagh glared at it.

Angela had given him a dream journal during his last session. She wanted him to write down his nightmares and view over them later. He had then told her that he didn’t need to write them down to remember them; he only had two or three dreams that were played on repeat. Angela had still given him the book and asked him to at least consider using it. Murtagh was still determined to not even touch it unless he had to move it.

Murtagh looked away. He drank up the rest of the coffee and walked into the kitchen. He slowly washed it and put it onto the counter. He glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even eleven. He sighed and walked to the door. The jacket was slowly, but surely put on, the boots were tied and a scarf was looped loosely around his neck. Murtagh pulled out his keys and walked out.

Outside it was full of life. Children were laughing and playing in the snow; eager to make just one more snowman before the snow melted. Others were walking to and fro from stores, some sitting inside a café or diner to warm up. Murtagh walked past them all, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed as he let his feet take him wherever they wished to go.

He walked past an electronic store and looked up when someone bumped into him. They muttered a hurried apology and were gone. Murtagh sighed and glanced at the shop window without meaning to. He froze.

His father’s picture was up beside the newscaster. The subtitle under the man read; **_The killer has served his sentence – was released last year._** Murtagh stared at the newscaster and didn’t even have to concentrate to read his lips; _the killer was released last year without noting the media. He is now living somewhere in the country. The police have come forth with new information regarding this secrecy. The scene shifted. Murtagh felt his heart stop when he recognised the police chief. Because of his young age and fragile mind, we felt it was best to keep his identity under wraps. This way he will be able to re-enter the society without too much trouble._

Murtagh gasped when he felt his heart give a jolt. He hurried away from the scene. But it was everywhere; he was haunted by his past everywhere he looked. The kiosks sold newspapers with his father’s face on them or a large headline that spoke of the murder. He felt like he was drowning.

Murtagh ran. He didn’t stop until he was away from the main street. Around him there were only smaller shops, none of had the newspaper displayed proudly in the windows or in front of the door. He walked shakily down the road, glancing up when he noticed the hospital to his right. Further down the road he could see the retirement home.

There was a park to his left. A few children were running around throwing snowballs at each other. Their parents stood by and watched. Murtagh walked over and started to walk down the path beside the park.

“It’s quite horrible, isn’t it?”

Murtagh looked up. Two old women were walking out of the park, their arms linked as they walked in a slow and crouched manner than Murtagh associated with old women.

“Yes, it is,” the shorter of the two women agreed.

“How they can allow someone so brutal to walk around on the streets is beyond me,” the first woman croaked. “The police these days are never able to do the right thing.”

“He should have been locked away for life when they first had him,” her friend said squeakily.

“Fragile mind, they said. They could have just said that he was mental,” the first woman scowled.

“They can’t say that on television, Ingrid,” the other shook her head.

“It certainly hasn’t stopped them before,” Ingrid huffed.

Murtagh watched them walk away in silence.

Monster, everyone thought of him as a monster. And it was never going to change.

-:-

Murtagh took a heavy swig of the bottle before letting it dangle between his fingers. He felt sick, physically sick, and he wasn’t quite sure where he was anymore.

He couldn’t remember when he had started to drink, but suspected it had been as soon as he had gotten home.

Monster, he was a _monster_.

Murtagh sobbed quietly as he swaggered down the path. He was inside some park, but he couldn’t tell if it was the north end or south end one. It didn’t really matter. He staggered and slipped on a patch of ice. He stumbled right into a nearby bench and let out a pained sound.

He stared in shock as he lifted his hand and saw that the bottle was still intact and still there. He lifted it to his lips and drained the rest of the alcohol. It tasted bitter and sharp, but he didn’t care.

The bottle fell from his hand, empty, and landed on a soft patch of snow. Murtagh staggered to his feet and continued to walk. Everything was getting blurrier by the second. He raised a hand to his forehead. He really didn’t feel good, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t deserve to feel good.

He slipped again and held onto a nearby tree. He was sweating, but he didn’t feel hot or cold. He was just numb. Murtagh groaned and threw up on the ground. He tried to cling onto the tree, but his grasp was slipping. He tried to get a proper foothold, but slipped again. The ground met him. The back of his head and neck was hurting, and the world was spinning. His mouth tasted awful and only made him want to puke more. He closed his eyes and tried to will it all away.

The insides of his eyelids were coated with blood. His head was ringing with a thousand unidentifiable voices.

_Monster._

_Murderer!_

_They should just lock you away forever, you psycho!_

_Freak._

_Animal._

_They should kill vermin like you in the womb before you can cause others misery!_

_I hope they give you the chair!_

His lungs were hurting. Why were they hurting? He wanted to focus, but all he could hear was the screams of accusing voices. All he could see was the splatter of his father’s spilt blood. The world was spinning out of control.

The cold was seeping into his bones, but why wasn’t he shuddering? He felt so cold, so cold. His vision was turning dark. He could no longer hear the wind...had he even heard it to begin with? His breathing, was he breathing? He couldn’t tell anymore. His chest was starting to hurt.

Murtagh gasped, but felt no air enter his lungs. He was dying, he had to be.

And strangely enough...he didn’t mind.

-:-

He woke up slowly. His eyelids wouldn’t quite open and allow him to see, so he gave up trying. Around him he could hear indistinctive chatter and some odd sounds. It smelled strange too.

Then Murtagh remembered. His eyes shot open.

“Ah, so you are awake?”

Murtagh would have given anything not to hear that voice. He pushed himself up and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” Thorn asked stiffly.

“Like hell.”

And he did. His head was aching, he felt dizzy, and his throat felt sore. His stomach felt a little funny too.

“That’s not surprising, seeing as you were brought in here and had to be pumped,” the redhead said dryly. “Just how much were you planning to drink? Until you croaked?”

Murtagh would rather have heard Thorn scream. The silent and cold words didn’t sound like Thorn at all.

“No,” Murtagh replied softly. “I just...I wanted to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“My father’s murder is all over the news,” he looked up at Thorn. “Everyone knows I’m out. How long will it be before they make the connection?”

Thorn shook his head. “It’s impossible for them to know that story is about you. They never ran your name or showed you picture, and I heard you got your name changed?”

Murtagh just nodded.

“Then you have no reason to fret!” Thorn exclaimed.

Murtagh hung his head. It felt like he had plenty of reasons.

“Oh, don’t give me that! You’re safe here. No one knows who you are, and the ones that do won’t rat you out,” Thorn snapped his fingers before Murtagh’s eyes. “You are free to live a normal life here.”

Murtagh snorted. He looked up and stared tiredly into Thorn’s eyes. “My life has never been normal. Why would that suddenly change?”

-:-

Tornac was not happy when he came to visit him in the hospital. Murtagh had just taken one look at the older man and waited for the reprimands to come. Strangely enough Tornac had just hugged him tightly and made him promise to never do that again.

The doctor hadn’t said anything or asked why he had drunk so much, and for that Murtagh was grateful. Otherwise he was sure his medical records would read two suicide attempts. It could still happen, of course. Angela could make sure that got added.

Murtagh was released without further ado, though Thorn stayed stubbornly by his side until Murtagh literally had to kick him out.

That night he dreamed of pain, bruising, tearing, the stench and feeling of blood sliding over him. He woke up with his father’s face before his eyes. He didn’t even make it to the bathroom before he threw up.

-:-

“I heard about your little trip to the hospital,” Angela sighed. “I won’t be altering your medical record, however. There were no indications that you were trying to drink yourself to death.”

Murtagh wasn’t too sure about that, but didn’t speak up.

“Though, if you would like to tell me what led up to your escapade...”

Murtagh sighed. “My father’s murder is all over the news again. I got scared, thinking that people would make the connections and realise that it was me.”

For once, Angela didn’t write anything down. She nodded softly. “I expected you to bring it up during this meeting, though I didn’t think it’d cause you to react in such a way.”

“Back in Urû’baen, everyone in my school and neighbourhood knew that it was me who had done it,” he licked his lips. “It was a miracle no one in prison recognised my face. But even so, I heard it every day when I stepped out on the street. Murder, freak, psycho...” he shook his head. “That’s what I heard when I was drinking, what I hear when I try to sleep.”

Angela frowned. “Murtagh -”

“I refuse to take any medication,” he told her sharply.

“If this is affecting you this badly, you really should,” she said sternly. “How many times have you been sick because of your nightmares?”

Murtagh didn’t answer.

“This is affecting you on such a level that I’ve considered asking Tornac to make sure you take any medication I prescribe to you,” Angela pursed her lips. “Please reconsider, Murtagh.”

He gave in and told her he would. But he already knew what he was going to answer in the next session.

-:-

Murtagh couldn’t really remember what his childhood had been like. All he could remember was pain, solitude, Thorn and confusion. He didn’t know what sort of boy he had been or how he had been in high school. He was sure he had been one of the loners, but he couldn’t remember what he had been like.

He hadn’t mourned his loss of childhood while he had been young, but he did now. Murtagh didn’t know if he had sung along to any particular songs, if he had played any instruments, what sort of sport he had been good at or what his favourite subject in school had been. It was like prison had wiped his memory clean.

He was a quiet neighbour. He was sure the walls were thick, seeing as no one had come to ask about his screaming, but still he was considerate towards his neighbours, as if they could hear him. His music was never too loud, the TV was never on full blast and he spoke in quiet tones. Then again, he had never been a loud person. That he knew. His father would have killed him if he had disturbed his peace.

He was sure he could ask Thorn or Tornac, but he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t want to know who he had been that badly.

But as he lay on the couch, a writing pad resting on his upturned knee as he sketched, he had to wonder if he had drawn a lot during his younger years. Had he liked to do it? Had he been any good? He would probably never know.

The phone rang. Murtagh sighed, reached out and put it on speaker. “Hello?”

_“Hello, Murtagh?”_

“Dr. Vitch,” Murtagh said softly, never taking his eyes away from his sketch.

 _“I’m sorry, but I need to move your appointment today back an hour,”_ Angela said softly. _“A client has come in and they’re very distressed -”_

“That’s alright. I understand.”

Murtagh had forgotten he had an appointment with Angela that day. He would need to check his jacket pocket later.

_“Then I’ll see you at four.”_

“Mhm,” Murtagh murmured distractedly. “Goodbye.”

He didn’t even look up as he hung up. He sighed and went returned his full attention back at the sketch.

The clock turned two, then three and then four. And still Murtagh didn’t look up.

-:-

If he had had the energy, he would have cursed. He was late for his appointment. It was now five thirty and Murtagh wondered why Angela hadn’t called. He looked at his phone and blinked. He hadn’t hung up; he had turned the phone off.

Murtagh sighed. He turned it back on and pressed the speed dial for Angela’s office.

_“Dr. Vitch’s office, how may I help you?”_

Murtagh could already feel a headache coming. It was the sugar sweet receptionist that day. She refused to stop flirting with him.

“This is Murtagh Morann. I seem to have missed my appointment -”

 _“Ah yes, Mr Morann,”_ Murtagh cringed when the girl on the other end purred. _“Dr. Vitch told me to tell you that she would be unable to see you today. Her patient had to be rushed to the emergency room and she has been there since.”_

Murtagh frowned. That sounded like something she’d ask the receptionist to call and tell him.

_“I tried to call you, but -”_

He didn’t need to hear the rest.

“My phone has been shut off,” he interrupted softly. “I’ll call back for another appointment. Goodbye.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he hung up. He looked down at his hands and sighed. He knew he wasn’t the only one in Carvahall that wasn’t quite right in the head, but that someone was bad enough to do something to be rushed to the ER? Murtagh found himself hoping that at least Angela was alright.

-:-

“You don’t look too good, Murtagh,” Nasuada commented softly.

Murtagh knew he didn’t. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the night before. Because he still refused to take any sleeping pills, he had to rely of physical and mental exhaustion to put himself to sleep. When he hadn’t been able to see Angela, he had only been able to get tired from work. The nightmare had been so bad Murtagh was relieved that he couldn’t remember it.

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” he replied. There was no use in saying that he was fine. Nasuada wouldn’t believe it for one second.

“Doesn’t look like it’s the first night you haven’t slept,” Nasuada pursed her lips. “How long has this been going on?”

They were the only ones left in the bar. Murtagh always took as many closing shifts as he could get his hands on, and this time he had ended up with Nasuada as his partner. They were nearly finished, a fact that he treasured. He wanted to go home and just fall asleep, even if that meant going back to his nightmares. He was too tired to care.

“Listen, I appreciate your sentiment, but I’m fine,” Murtagh smiled tiredly.

“Insomnia shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

Murtagh laughed softly. “It’s not insomnia,” he said softly. “Nightmares.”

“Oh,” Nasuada muttered. “I see. I thought there was some -”

“There are medications I could take yes, but I won’t,” Murtagh said and turned off all the lights in the bar. He shouldered on his jacket and made his way to the door. He heard Nasuada’s soft footsteps as she followed him.

“Why?” Nasuada asked firmly.

Murtagh shut the door and closed it. He checked the handle to make sure it was locked and turned around.

“Some of us deserve to be punished. I take my punishment in my sleep.”

Nasuada opened her mouth, obviously to argue, but he simply hurried down the street and was gone.

-:-

“How have you been?” Angela asked a little breathlessly.

Murtagh hadn’t called to get a new appointment. Rather, Tornac had showed up at his apartment, shoved a note in his hand with the next appointment and sternly told him to go. Murtagh had caved easily. He loved Tornac like a father, a real father. He would rather kill himself than to disappoint him.

“Alright,” Murtagh said nonchalantly. “How’s your patient?”

Angela jumped. She looked at him over her spectacles. A soft smile entered her lips. “He’s fine. He just had a very severe breakdown and had forgotten to take his medications for a while. I rushed him to the hospital just to be sure.”

Murtagh nodded.

“Any nightmares since last time?”

Murtagh just looked down.

“Murtagh, you shouldn’t be doing this to yourself,” she whispered.

“I don’t care. I...” he trailed off. He didn’t want her to know.

“Yes?” she pushed on. “You what?”

“I deserve it. I was given a second chance, one I won’t be taking lightly, and so I deserve the pain that comes with it.”

“Murtagh!” Angela scolded. “We’re talking about, what, seven years of continuous nightmares? This cannot continue. I’m going to write out -”

Murtagh was out of his seat and had slammed his palm onto the desk before he even knew what he was doing. Angela jumped in her seat. He glared down at her, his mouth set to a thin line.

“I refuse to take it,” he told her darkly. “This is my burden to bear. Don’t you dare take that away from me.”

Angela looked up at him with a frightened expression. “Is this why you won’t take any medication?” she whispered frighteningly.

Murtagh removed his hand from her desk and slipped them both into his pockets. He didn’t answer.

“Murtagh, you need to learn how to forgive yourself for whatever you mean you’ve done to deserve this,” she said sternly. “And I know just the person to help you.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t want any help.”

“Don’t see it as help,” Angela’s eyes twinkled slightly as her finger hovered over the button that made her able to reach her receptionist. “See it as another friend.”

“I don’t want or need another friend,” Murtagh said coldly.

Angela smirked softly. She pressed the button. _“Yes Dr. Vitch?”_

“When is Mr. Rider’s next appointment?”

 _“Next Wednesday at five. Do you want me to call and reschedule?”_ the receptionist asked.

“No, that’s perfect. Thank you,” Angela smiled and took her finger off the button. “I’ll be seeing you next Wednesday at five p.m.”

Even after fifteen minutes of arguing he left with another appointment deep in his jean pocket. He was dreading it already.

-:-

“She wants you to what?” Thorn asked amusedly. “Interact with another human being?” he laughed.

“Shut up,” Murtagh said sourly.

Thorn sniggered. “Seriously, you should listen to her,” he said, suddenly sounding serious. “She has helped you a lot. Just listen to yourself! You’re complaining! Tell me the last time you complained about something.”

Murtagh didn’t reply.

“I’ve heard of sessions like that,” Thorn said, flicking a crumb off the table. “They’re not that bad, apparently. All the doctor wants is for you to talk to another human being about your problems. Someone that isn’t a shrink, I mean.”

“Thorn, it took me ages to open up to her,” he sighed. “I’ll never be able to tell what I’ve told her to a complete stranger.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the redhead shrugged. “You never know until you try.”

“A shrink won’t judge you openly,” Murtagh told him calmly and stared deep into his eyes. Thorn fell silent. “Another person will. I’m just going to scar some poor guy for life if I let him look into my mind.”

“Hey, Tornac and I are still here!” Thorn snorted. “Give yourself some credit.”

“You haven’t heard the worst of it,” Murtagh said hoarsely. “And neither has the shrink.”

“Then don’t tell this guy your darkest secrets.”

“That is what she wants me to. I can see it in her eyes.”

Thorn rolled his eyes. “Listen, your mind is your own; you choose who to let in. You can just sit there and stare at the guy until the hour is up if you want to.”

Murtagh smirked softly.

“If Angela asks you to tell about your nightmares, then just tell the basics. It’s not like either one of them need to know more,” Thorn crocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Murtagh pursed his lips. “No one needs to know.”

“Just sit there, appear patient and trustful, and don’t give the guy crap if what he says is complete shit. You’re not there to analyse him; just to be a listening ear. Kind of like a priest at a confession stand,” Thorn said and winked.

Murtagh winced.

It didn’t change anything, though. If anything, he was dreading it even more now.


	3. Ricin

Murtagh came a little early for his next appointment. Angela had the door open and waved him inside another room. It had two armchairs half facing each other and a desk in the other end. There was a small table in-between the chairs and the rest of the room had an almost comfortable feel to it. Murtagh instantly disliked it.

“Just sit down. I’m sure Rider will be here at any moment,” Angela said and smiled. “I promise I’ll go easy on you this time. Actually, he’s done this before, so I’ll explain the procedures to you.”

Murtagh winced.

“Basically you two are going to be talking. It will seem weird at first because you don’t know one another, but that’s the point. You’re not here to judge; just to be a shoulder to lean on.”

“If he’s been through this before, why is he still coming to you?”

Angela looked terribly uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Murtagh bowed his head.

Angela sighed. “It’s alright, Murtagh. You’re allowed to be curious. Oh, there he is.”

Murtagh sighed, but didn’t look up. He heard her exchange pleasantries with whoever it was. He only looked up when he heard his name being mentioned.

“This is Murtagh Morann,” Angela said and smiled softly. “He’s the one I told you about.”

Murtagh instantly felt exposed. She had told this other guy about him but refused to return the favour? He sighed and stood.

“And this is Eragon Rider,” Angela’s smile widened ever so slightly.

Murtagh felt his eyes widen slightly. The boy in front of him was about a head shorter than him and obviously a few years younger. He had soft brown hair that looked overly messy, probably due to the wind. Sharp, dark brown eyes seemed to almost glow. Eragon smiled sheepishly and held out his hand. Murtagh shook it softly.

“Nice to meet you,” Eragon said and let go.

“Likewise,” Murtagh murmured and sat back down. He could almost not take his eyes off Eragon as the other did so as well.

“Now that you’ve met each other, start talking,” Angela said sweetly. “I promise not to intervene unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Eragon and Murtagh stared awkwardly at each other. Murtagh leaned back in his seat. He let his left arm rest on the armrest while his right lay partially on top of his thigh. His fingers drummed softly as the silence continued on.

Eragon’s arms were crossed over his chest and he seemed almost awkward. If he had done this before, Murtagh didn’t think it looked like it.

“So...I haven’t seen you before,” Eragon said sheepishly. “Are you, um, new here?”

“Yes,” Murtagh said softly. “I just moved here a few months ago.”

“Oh, cool,” Eragon smiled. “I’ve lived here all my life. It’s awesome here.”

Murtagh just gave a half-smile.

“It’s not great or anything, but its home,” the brunet smiled fondly. “Where’s did you move from?”

Murtagh’s face hardened. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

“I’m sorry,” Eragon stuttered.

“Its fine, how could you know?” Murtagh shrugged.

Silence. Murtagh started to tap a melody with his fingers. He was very aware of Eragon’s eyes following his fingers movement. He was tempted to stop.

“How long have you been coming here?” Murtagh asked gruffly, his voice changing without him meaning it to. He winced.

Eragon looked down. “For eight years,” he muttered. “Ever since I turned twelve.”

“I’m sorry.”

Eragon looked up. Something flashed in his eyes. “How about you then?”

Murtagh pursed his lips. “Since I got here.”

Something else lit up in the dark eyes. Recognition. His heart sped up.

“Oh, I see,” Eragon bit his lip. “Prison?”

Murtagh was slightly intimidated by Eragon’s insightfulness. He merely nodded.

“Yeah, for some it’s a part of the rehabilitation program,” Eragon let out a soft laugh.

Murtagh frowned. “Have you?”

Eragon blushed. “No! I mean, no,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “But I know some people who had to see Angela after being away.”

He nodded. That made sense. For some reason, Carvahall seemed like a haven for ex-cons. Murtagh nearly laughed at the irony. Quiet little Carvahall; ex-con central.

“How long were you in for?” Eragon asked softly, clearly a little intimidated by his earlier display of hostility.

“Six years,” Murtagh sighed.

Eragon’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

“Hn.”

Another pause. Murtagh crocked his head slightly, trying to hear if Angela was scribbling notes like he was so used to. He was surprised when he heard nothing from her side of the room.

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk about why you were inside,” Eragon trailed off. “So, um, how was it?”

Murtagh had to give it to him. The kid was actually courageous.

“It was alright,” he replied. “Not nearly as bad as some make it to be. Then again, I wasn’t harassed by the other inmates. They stayed clear of me and I stayed away from them.”

Eragon’s eyes widened, though this time Murtagh wasn’t sure why. Murtagh saw him mouth something and instantly caught the words. He smirked.

“I’m not a serial killer if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Eragon jumped. “Wha?”

“Just now, you were saying _‘it’s always the quiet ones’_. I’m not a cold-blooded killer.” His voice caught at the last word. He hoped Eragon hadn’t noticed. Eragon must have though, for he tensed slightly. Murtagh fought the urge to look over and glare at Angela, just to tell her ‘I told you so’.

“Then what were you in for?” Eragon whispered shakily.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Murtagh said calmly. “What I did in my past is just that; my past.”

Murtagh heard Angela push her chair back, obviously getting ready to interfere if she felt that things got out of hand.

“I-I -” Eragon shook his head and stood up shakily. “What are you?!”

“Eragon, that’s enough!” Angela said firmly.

“No, I want to know! What if he’s some kind of -”

“He’s not!” Angela interrupted.

Murtagh’s gaze was directed at the floor. Even if Angela had interrupted Eragon, he knew what the brunet had been about to say. _Monster_. He swallowed.

“I’ll take my leave now,” he said softly. He looked up and looked at Angela sadly. “I told you this was a mistake.”

Angela opened her mouth, but it was too late. Before Eragon could even get out of his seat, Murtagh had stormed out of the room.

\----

“Who was it?! Tell me and I’ll fucking kick him to the ground!” Thorn snarled.

Murtagh sighed. He had managed to avoid Thorn for three days before the redhead had almost literally broken into his apartment and demanded to know what had happened. Murtagh had tried to assure Thorn that nothing had happened, but apparently he was still a horrible liar.

“It’s alright, Thorn,” Murtagh said softly. He avoided looking at Thorn when he talked. He was sure he was an even worse liar if Thorn was looking him in the eye.

“It’s not bloody alright!” Thorn growled. “No one calls my best friend a, a -!” he growled loudly and Murtagh winced when he heard the wall creak. He flashed a quick look in Thorn’s direction.

“Could you try not to bring the whole building down?” Murtagh asked almost teasingly.

Thorn blinked. He pulled his fist back and laughed awkwardly at the small dent it had left behind. “Well, what do you know?” he shook his head. “Nu-uh, ain’t working!” he narrowed his eyes. “Who was it?”

“Just some kid,” Murtagh shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s not likely that I’ll ever see him again, anyway.”

“Nope, not good enough,” Thorn pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll need his full name, social security number, address and phone number.”

“I have none of those,” Murtagh said and started to massage his temples. He shouldn’t be so surprised, and yet he was. He remembered how protective Thorn had been when they had been younger.

“Alright, just his name then,” the redhead said sourly. “And description if you please.”

“Thorn, no,” Murtagh said firmly. “The kid was suspicious of me, something he had every right to be. I’m not going to let you beat his skull in just because he had some sense in his head.”

“Che,” Thorn snorted. “I’ve never seen you take cover like this before. He deserves to be told just what the saying _‘don’t judge a book by its cover’_ means.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Thorn,” Murtagh stood up and walked over to him. He gently gripped one of his shoulders. “It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”

Thorn growled under his breath.

“It doesn’t matter, alright?” Murtagh murmured. “I’m used to it. I won’t be doing any shared sessions anymore, and that’s more than fine with me.”

“You-you’re used to it?”

Murtagh rubbed a hand tiredly over his forehead. “You have to let this go. So what if one more person here is afraid of me? It’s not a big deal.”

The phone chose that moment to ring. Murtagh snorted.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Thorn nodded in the phone’s general direction.

“No.”

The redhead narrowed his eyes. He stalked towards the couch where the cordless lay.

“It’s just Angela calling for another appointment,” Murtagh said tiredly. “I don’t want it.”

Thorn snorted loudly and made a big show of pressed the button and putting the phone to his ear. “Thorn speaking.”

Murtagh let out a groan. “It’s my phone, moron.”

Thorn smirked. “Yes, this is Mur – Eragon?!” he laughed loudly.

Murtagh’s heart stopped in his chest. What now? Wasn’t insulting him to his face enough? Now people called to tell him just how big of a monster he was?

“What are you calling Murtagh for? He’s hardly the social butterfly. I doubt he’s handing out his number.”

Murtagh gulped. “Thorn, hang up.”

Thorn frowned. “Don’t be such a bastard,” he mouthed. “Hmm, what did you say? Yeah, he’s here.”

Murtagh shook his head.

“What now?” Thorn muttered. He was moving closer now. “Just hold on a sec, Eragon.”

“Wait, you know him?” Murtagh asked quietly.

“Sure. He’s Saphira’s best friend,” Thorn said and held out the phone. “C’mon.”

His mouth fell open. He hadn’t realised they could be the same person. He had barely registered the name when Saphira had mentioned him, but now that Murtagh thought back, he remembered it being Eragon.

Murtagh shook his head. “He’s better off without talking to monsters like me,” he said coldly.

Thorn frowned. “Hey now -” he cut himself off. “Monster?” his eyes widened. “The fuck?! No, it can’t – it was him?!”

Murtagh smiled sadly. “He’s a bright kid,” he murmured. “Tell him to not call again, could you? I prefer not to be harassed in my own home.”

Thorn lifted the phone back to his ear. Murtagh turned around and padded into the kitchen. He stared out of the small window and tried to ignore the wounded look he saw in the reflection of his eyes.

Thorn’s voice was a mere buzzing from where he was standing. He hung his head and leaned onto the side of the fridge. His sweater rode up slightly and when his bare skin meeting the white surface, he instantly shuddered.

“Listen here, Eragon; Murtagh moved away from a lot of shit. He doesn’t appreciate being judged for trying to escape from that.”

Murtagh frowned. He’d rather that Thorn would stop telling his secrets to a perfect stranger he was never going to meet again.

“Oh,” Thorn sounded surprised. “Well yes, that does sound like Murtagh.”

Murtagh turned around and glared in Thorn’s direction. To his surprise, he found himself staring into Thorn’s eyes. He blinked and looked away.

“Hey, with someone like him, asking the wrong questions is a given,” Thorn laughed. “It’s the name-calling that really gets to him.”

Murtagh smiled bitterly. He wondered how things were going to work out in the future. Going to the wedding didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

“Um, I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

Murtagh snorted.

“Could you wait a sec? Yeah, thanks.” Murtagh could practically hear the smile in Thorn’s voice. He turned around and crocked an eyebrow at the redhead. Thorn just smirked. “What were you saying again, Eragon?”

Murtagh could only widen his eyes before a new voice rung softly in the apartment.

_“What, you want me to repeat it? I made a mistake. You know how I hate people for being too judgemental. Guess that came back to bite me in the ass.”_

Murtagh licked his lips. Thorn waved the phone he had put on speaker and smirked. “Yeah, that’s a bitch isn’t it?”

 _“Totally,”_ Eragon sighed. _“But there’s no chance he’ll forgive me, right?”_

“Maybe not right now.” Thorn winked. “But hey, who knows what the future might bring?”

“Are you kidding me? If someone had almost called me what I was about to call him, I’d never forgive them,” Eragon snorted.

“Give Murtagh some credit. He’s been called worse and lived through it.”

Murtagh blinked. He narrowed his eyes at Thorn and made a motion for him to cut the conversation short. Thorn’s smirk widened. “What was that?” he mouthed.

“Cut it off!” Murtagh mouthed back.

Thorn cupped his ear. “What?”

 _“Still, I feel bloody terrible,”_ Eragon sighed loudly. _“I don’t blame him though. Tell him I’m sorry and that I won’t be bothering him again?”_

“I think you’ve done the work for me, kid,” Thorn laughed.

_“What?”_

“You fuckhead!” Murtagh shouted and leaped at him.

“I’ll call you later, Eragon,” Thorn said and hung up. Murtagh was on him a second later. Thorn had no time to react. They fell to the floor with a loud crash, Murtagh on top of the other.

“What’d you do that for?!” Murtagh growled.

“Well, I figured that since you wouldn’t willingly talk to him, listening could just as easily work,” Thorn shrugged. “You got his point, didn’t you?”

Murtagh sneered.

“And I haven’t seen you this worked up in nearly twelve years,” Thorn said. “Something must have gotten through to you.”

“Maybe I just like my privacy, the thing you were flaunting in a total stranger’s face!” Murtagh hissed.

Thorn sighed. He pushed himself up, something that Murtagh wasn’t ready for. Murtagh let out a small pained sound when his head hit the floor with a smack. “Asshole.”

Thorn laughed. He helped Murtagh to his feet. “Eragon isn’t a stranger.”

“Not to you,” Murtagh told him coldly. “I don’t plan to see him again.”

“He’s feeling awful, Murtagh,” Thorn said softly.

“I don’t care,” he said harshly. “I’m doing fine on my own, which is why I won’t be seeing Angela again.”

Thorn shook his head. “Don’t do this, Murtagh.”

“Also, I won’t be coming to your wedding,” Murtagh said coldly and turned around. He walked over to the door and shoved his feet into the first pair of shoes he could find. Thankfully they were his. “Lock up after yourself, would you?”

And then he left.

\----

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” Orrin said bluntly.

Murtagh didn’t reply. His shift was almost halfway over, but thanks to it being Saturday it was as busy as ever. And when midnight hit, he knew it would be busier still.

It had been a week since Eragon had called. Murtagh had briefly been worried that he would call again, but so far only Angela had. Murtagh had met his parole officer face to face for the third time that same week. The first time he had done so he had immediately recognised Nasuada’s features in Ajihad. It had only served to make him more nervous. So far nothing bad had happened, though Ajihad had recognised him after the second meeting. Apparently Nasuada talked about him.

Murtagh looked up just in time to see Nasuada slip into the back. Arya was back there. He smiled softly when he thought about what they were doing. It was sort of a public secret that they were dating. That was why he hadn’t been worried when Ajihad had recognised him. Nasuada wasn’t interested in him.

“Here comes your favourite customer,” Orrin laughed.

Murtagh’s eyes widened. He took one look at the door before ducking down. Orrin frowned.

“I’m not here,” he hissed.

Orrin opened his mouth to speak, but the other person beat him to it.

“Is Murtagh here?”

“Nah, sorry,” Orrin grinned sheepishly.

Murtagh clenched his eyes shut.

“Damnit,” Saphira hissed.

“Why? Having a rendezvous with him later that you need to cancel?”

Murtagh rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m trying to get him to talk to Eragon,” Saphira said dryly. “He’s escaped me so far, but I figured that I could at least catch him here.”

“Oh,” Orrin blinked. “Well, if I see him I’ll pass the message along.”

“Thank you.”

Murtagh heard her leave. He muttered curses under his breath without even realising it. Orrin looked down at him and crocked an eyebrow.

“So, what’s up?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Murtagh growled and stood up. He didn’t care if she saw him now; he was about ready to leave, his job be damned.

“Seriously? I mean, we’ve been acquainted for a few months now, but this is the first time I’ve seen you act like that,” Orrin drawled. “And when the person you’re hiding from is sweet little Saphira, I have to ask why.”

Murtagh had gotten used to the emotion that was building up in him. It had surprised him the first time, but by now he was quite used to feeling irritated.

“I have my reasons,” Murtagh said coldly and went back to putting away the dirty glasses.

“But it’s Saphira!”

Murtagh just sent him a glare and grabbed the tray of glasses, intending to take them out back to clean them. Orrin blocked his way. “It’s that serious?” he asked softly.

Murtagh shouldered his way around him. The redhead thankfully didn’t try to hold him back.

“Murtagh!”

He cursed. He had started to do that too; cursing. It felt strange and familiar all at once.

“I’m busy,” he told her coldly.

Saphira narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips. “All I’m asking -”

“I know quite well what you want,” he snapped. Saphira backed away a step. “Tell that kid whatever that’ll make him feel better and make him leave me alone.”

“But -”

“No, I know he hasn’t harassed me, but you have on his behalf,” he said coldly. “All I want is to forget that it ever happened.”

She opened her mouth to speak yet again, but he cut her off for the second time.

“I don’t care how much he regrets what he did, the fact remains that he did do it,” he clenched his jaw. “I may have made a few mistakes, but even people like me have feelings.”

She remained silent.

“It was not my idea to go through with it,” he continued. “Had I had it my way, I would never have stepped into that room in the first place. I do not need someone to listen to my sob stories, and I certainly don’t need any pity. Just tell him to grow up and forget we ever crossed paths.”

He felt oddly calm as he walked away from her and manoeuvred his way to the back of the bar.

\----

Thorn did not look pleased. Murtagh was tempted to wince.

“I’m sorry I told your fiancée off. It was totally uncalled for,” he said softly.

Thorn just snorted. “If you’d apologise to her in person, I might forgive you.”

Murtagh bit back a nasty reply. That was new too. He wasn’t used to feeling angry at Thorn. A lot of things seemed to be changing.

“Fine, I’ll call her.”

“No,” Thorn said firmly. “Face-to-face.”

Murtagh slung down the phone onto the table. He was lucky it didn’t break and he knew it.

“Fuck you, Thorn! Who are you to boss me around?! If I do not want to see her then I do not want to see her!” he roared.

Thorn looked shocked. Murtagh panted softly and realised it was the first time he had yelled, properly yelled at his friend in years.

“It’s not her you’re avoiding and you know it,” the redhead said finally.

“So what?” Murtagh replied tiredly.

“All he wants to do is to -”

“I honestly don’t care.” He shook his head and laughed bitterly. “I don’t. The damage has been done, and that’s that.”

“This doesn’t only concern you, Murtagh,” Thorn said coldly.

“I’m not that self-centred,” he replied just as coldly. “But I’m struggling here, trying to get back on my feet, and every time I hear someone say that, I fall right back to the bottom. Forgive me for trying not to get hurt.”

“We all get hurt. It’s a part of our everyday life!” Thorn snorted. “I’m not asking you to do me a huge favour.”

“No, just to sit down and listen to a little kid tell me how sorry he is for calling me what I rightfully am.”

Murtagh didn’t see it coming, but he sure felt it. He fell to the floor, his hand cradling a stinging cheek. He didn’t make a sound.

“You absolute prick. Eragon’s sorry because he reacted too quickly, judged you too soon. How can you be mad at him if you believe his assumptions to be true?” the taller male hissed.

“Have you ever looked yourself in the mirror and tried to convince yourself that the thing staring back at you wasn’t your own reflection?” Murtagh asked as he slowly got back to his feet. “Have you ever stopped looking at your reflection because you couldn’t deny the horrid truth anymore? Imagine everyone around you saying that truth to your face, judging you with their eyes,” he hissed. “It’s a pain like no other. That is why I refuse to see him again. I’ll only see the horror in his eyes. I wouldn’t even be able to hear what he’d say, because the terror would be staring back at me, the terror and loathing of what I really am.”

_A monster._

Thorn looked at him like he had never seen him before. “Che,” he looked down and shook his head sadly. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

Thorn shook his head and left. Murtagh wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not.

\----

He bumped into her by surprise, but for some strange reason he felt oddly relieved. A week had passed since he had snapped at her, and he and Thorn hadn’t spoken since.

“Oh, hello,” Saphira said meekly.

Murtagh wondered why he hadn’t seen her before; he shopped there every Thursday. He shook the thought away just as quickly. He had other things to do.

“I, ah, wanted to apologise for the other night,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

A soft smile. Murtagh wondered what he had done to deserve that.

“No, it’s alright. I understand,” she shook her head softly. “We must have been driving you crazy.”

He didn’t comment. If he was crazy already, how could they drive him crazier? “A little,” he said instead. He didn’t want to scare her away completely.

She smiled. “Again, I have to apologise on Eragon’s behalf. He still wants to apologise himself, but somehow I get the feeling you wouldn’t like that too much.”

He grimaced. Was he that transparent? He guessed he was.

“Just tell him he’s forgiven and not to worry about it anymore,” he said and prepared to leave.

“But he really hit a nerve. Even I can see that.”

Murtagh sighed. Why did everyone have to poke around in his head?

“I’ll admit that he did, but it’s all in the past,” he said softly. “I’ve forgotten it already.”

“No, you haven’t,” she told him sharply. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Then you should also see that I do not wish to talk about it,” Murtagh told her softly, yet firmly.

He wanted to get away, and that now.

She looked at him sadly. No, he didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, and he believed he had told her so a week ago. Maybe she had been too focused on being scared of him rather than his hurtful words?

“Are you still going to Angela?” she asked.

“No.”

“Don’t stop going because of Eragon.”

“It’s because of myself,” he told her calmly. “There’s nothing more she can do for me, and I’ve done the acquired numbers of sessions for the first six months. I’ll see her again later.”

“But she’s really helping you. Even I can see that,” Saphira bit her lip.

“Talking to someone about horrors that won’t go away can only help so much,” he said bitterly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to my shopping.”

He didn’t look back as he walked away.

\----

Murtagh wasn’t sure just how Tornac had convinced him to come back, but he thought it had something to do with the vivid nightmare Tornac had oh-so-conveniently interrupted and witnessed him throw up because of. He had tried to convince Tornac to leave him alone, but ever since the older man had gotten his health back, he had been more stubborn to see him get better as well.

Murtagh looked up at the building and flinched when a car honked behind him. Tornac. The man had even insisted that he’d take Murtagh there; obviously not trusting him to go on his own. With good reason.

He sighed and entered the building. He took the stairs up to the third floor and pushed open the door to the reception. The girl behind the reception perked up when she recognised him. He ignored her and sank down into one of the mattered chairs.

He just wanted the whole ordeal over and done with. And it certainly didn’t help that Tornac had told him that he’d happily pay for every session that fell out of the required amount of session the court had given him.

“Dr. Vitch will be with you in a second,” the girl purred.

Murtagh didn’t look up. He knew that; there was no need for her to say that every time he came.

A few minutes ticked by. He tried to recite the lyrics to one of his favourite songs as he waited, but he always came to a sudden halt after the second chorus. He sighed and gave up. Murtagh looked up just in time to see the door open.

The first thing he saw was Eragon coming out.

He stiffened. Damnit. He should have known Angela would have set this up! Murtagh slouched and pretended not to have seen him. He hoped Eragon wouldn’t recognise him.

“Oh, there you are, Murtagh.”

Damn Angela, damn her! Murtagh was no longer startled when he started to curse someone mentally. He looked up and sent her a glare.

“Well?” she held the door open expectantly.

Murtagh stood up stiffly. Eragon still hadn’t left. His wide and shocked eyes hadn’t left him either.

“Or maybe you wish to wait a few more minutes?” Angela said innocently.

He wanted to curse at her, but held his tongue. “No, thank you. I’d like to get this over with,” he said coldly and stalked forward and into the room, his eyes never meeting Eragon’s.

If that wouldn’t stop him from caring about him, then Murtagh didn’t know what else he could do.

Murtagh vaguely heard Angela begin to apologise, but she cut herself off. He looked over his shoulder to find out why. Eragon was staring at him darkly. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides and he was practically glowing with anger.

“You’re a right bastard,” Eragon spat at him. Murtagh soaked in the angered words. “If you didn’t want to forgive me, fine, but at least tell me!”

“That would defeat the purpose of not forgiving you,” Murtagh said nonchalantly. “And I have forgiven you. I simply do not wish to talk to you.”

Eragon’s mouth fell open. Murtagh felt vaguely amused when he started to open and close it, obviously having been rendered speechless.

A minute passed before Eragon got his bearings back. He glared at Murtagh and stormed away. Murtagh felt himself begin to smile, but killed it quickly. At least that annoyance was out of his life.

When he looked away, Angela had already placed herself behind her desk and was watching him with a calculated gaze. Once again he found himself wondering what she saw when she looked at him.

“Are you going to give me a lecture as well?” he asked her, biting back the bitter tone just before he started to speak.

“No,” her eyes sparkled a little strangely. “By your tone, you have one or two to look forward to already.”

He just snorted. Angela smiled softly.

“I realise that you weren’t quite ready to have a shared session. I won’t schedule for one until you’re ready.”

He frowned. He didn’t want another one, period. He told her so.

“You shouldn’t throw away the opportunity just yet, Murtagh,” she said. “Something good might come of it.”

Might, she had said. They both knew it wasn’t a safe bet. Murtagh allowed himself to feel slightly smug about that fact before schooling himself for another session.

“How about we try something new?” Angela said and pulled out her notebook. “Would you like to tell me about one of your nightmares?”

Murtagh sighed. And so it began anew.

\----

Six months. It was surreal to think he had been there for so long. The winter had faded away to spring, though there was still a slight chill in the air.

Murtagh hadn’t seen Eragon since their second meeting. He had been very surprised when Thorn hadn’t called or showed up to yell at him. Maybe Eragon hadn’t told? That sounded odd, considering how close they all were.

Time passed slowly without Thorn around. Or maybe Eragon had in fact told Thorn, and now Thorn simply refused to speak to him again. Murtagh laughed bitterly. Though it didn’t sound like something the redhead would do, what else was he left to believe? That he was still mad that Murtagh hadn’t apologised to Eragon?

That was a more likely scenario. But Murtagh was screwed either way. And the bottle of liquor that he had found the other day was suddenly starting to look very tempting.

The door slammed open in that instant. If Murtagh had been paranoid, he would have wondered about conspiracy theories to keep him from drinking.

“Alright, I give,” Thorn practically growled. “Just what will it fucking take for you to talk to Eragon?!”

Murtagh blinked. So he hadn’t told after all. Because he doubted that if Eragon had told Saphira, she would have kept it from Thorn.

“I have talked to him,” Murtagh said calmly. “And by your demeanour, you know that I’ve already talked to Saphira.”

Thorn stared at him in shock. “You have?”

Murtagh tilted his head. “Two or three weeks ago,” he replied softly. “Angela set it up.”

Thorn blinked. He shook his head and planted himself firmly beside Murtagh. “And?”

Murtagh sighed. “I told him I had forgiven him.”

“...And?” Thorn pushed on.

“And that I did not want to see him again,” he said and shrugged.

Thorn blinked again. “...And he just left?”

Murtagh nodded. Thorn frowned, looking thoroughly confused. “But he...”

“Hn?”

Thorn looked up. He smirked softly. “Told you Angela was helping you.”

“Avoiding the subject is what _I_ do, Thorn,” Murtagh told him dully.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” the redhead shrugged.

“It’s never nothing. Not when you make that face.” Murtagh crossed his arms. “Which means it’s something you do not wish to tell me.”

Thorn smirked. “I never claimed that you were dumb.”

“Why, thank you,” Murtagh rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to tell me, say so. It’s better than lying.”

“I’ll turn those words on you one day; you know,” Thorn grinned. “And fine, I don’t want to tell you.”

Murtagh nodded softly.

“So, how’ve you been?”

Murtagh groaned. “If you could refrain from parroting my shrink, I’d appreciate it.”

Thorn just laughed.

\----

He supposed it was inevitable. There was no way the walls could have been as thick as he would have liked them to be.

He found out how thin they actually were, or maybe how loud he could be, one day down in the washing room.

“307, right?”

Murtagh looked up. The dryer was due to be finished in a few minutes, and so far he hadn’t seen anyone else. He had passed a few people when he had come down with his laundry and when he had walked back down to pick it up, but no one had greeted him. It didn’t matter to Murtagh; it was not like he wanted more friends.

“That’s right,” Murtagh said nonchalantly. He didn’t offer his name.

The man before him looked horribly bored and suspicious at the same time. His bright blue eyes were almost glaring into Murtagh’s, and his black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. The man pushed a strand of hair away from his face. “Vanir Therr, 309.”

Murtagh narrowed his eyes slightly. 309? That meant that this man his next door neighbour.

“Murtagh Morann,” Murtagh said out of courtesy. He didn’t want to appear too rude either.

“Hn.” Murtagh crocked an eyebrow. That was the first time he had hear someone beside him use that word. Or sound, as it were. “You’re the nightmare guy,” Vanir said bluntly.

Murtagh froze. The machine beside him gave a soft ‘pling’ to announce that it was finished.

“Excuse me?” Murtagh asked calmly. It had been a long time since he had disliked someone upon sight.

“Every other night you wake up screaming. It’s barely audible, but loud enough; especially if someone shares your bedroom wall,” Vanir drawled. “That’s why your other neighbour remains in the dark.”

Murtagh clenched his jaw.

“Can I help you with something?” If the guy asked him to keep it down, Murtagh wasn’t sure he could keep himself from punching him.

“Yeah. You could go and see a shrink or something.”

His right eye was starting to twitch. That was new. Murtagh snorted and stuffed his now dry clothes into a bag and slammed the door shut. He needed to keep his temper in check.

“If it bothers you so much, get earplugs,” he muttered as he walked past the other man.

“Tried. It didn’t work,” Vanir called after him.

Murtagh didn’t reply.

\----

It was one of his typical nightmares, but it still scared him.

He had a knife in his hand and he was forcing it into the monster’s stomach. Again and again the knife would slip through the flesh with a sickening sound, and each time he pulled it back, he would get another splotch of blood on him. He stabbed the monster in the stomach, chest and neck. The blood was burning on his skin, but still he kept on stabbing.

Suddenly the knife wasn’t there anymore and he was staring down at what had used to be a monster. Now all he could see was his father’s grey and slowly decaying corpse. Everything else was red, but his father remained cold and grey.

He started to shake. He raised his hands to eye level. They were black with coagulated blood. He started to sob. And when he looked down, he looked straight into his father’s dead eyes.

Suddenly they blinked and weren’t dead anymore. He screamed.

Murtagh sat up and found himself staring at his hands, a scream lodged in his throat. The light flashed and suddenly everything was red. He ran and found himself throwing up violently into the sink.

He kept his head low as he rinsed the taste from his mouth and brushed his teeth for good measure. He did not want to look himself in the mirror.

As he stumbled out of the bathroom, he couldn’t help but to feel sicker. His neighbour, the stuck up asshole, had he heard? Had Murtagh screamed again that night? He held a hand to his forehead. Great, it felt warm. He found a thermometer and crawled onto the couch, a blanket thrown around him. He shuddered slightly as he waited for the high from being sick to dissipate.

He was dizzy and he didn’t like it. He put the thermometer in his mouth and turned on the TV. He was blinking drowsily by the time the thermometer beeped softly. He tugged it out and grimaced. Great, he had a slight fever.

Murtagh went over the small closet, tugged out a bucket and splashed some water into it. Then he found some painkillers in the bathroom, a mug of ice-water and a glass, found a thicker blanket and picked up his pillow before lying down on the couch.

He dozed off before he was even aware of his eyelids slipping shut.

\----

There was a perfectly good reason why Thorn sat beside him, nursing a rather purple jaw.

Murtagh had dozed in and out of sleep, and during each period he had been graced with a new nightmare. Every time he saw the same thing; himself standing over his father’s dead body, killing him, his father coming back to life to kill him.

It was no wonder that he had lashed out when he had seen someone standing over him after having just witnessed his father lash out with a knife. But when he had seen Thorn sprawled on the floor, Murtagh had winced. Nothing good would come of this, of that he was sure.

“...So, that was new,” Thorn said finally. “Is that your new way of greeting me?”

Murtagh sighed. “No. You caught me in a bad time.”

“Obviously,” Thorn snorted. “So what was the nightmare about?”

Murtagh just pursed his lips.

“Ah,” Thorn muttered. “Then why were you sleeping in here?”

“Not feeling too good,” Murtagh groaned. “And my fucking neighbour decided to tell me that he knows I have nightmares, and would I please seek consoling, because he can’t sleep through my screaming.”

The redhead fell silent. He snorted amusedly after a very long minute. “Talk about irony, huh?”

Murtagh just rolled his eyes.

“But maybe you should...you know...get some meds,” Thorn said softly. “Anything that makes you act like that and puke, if I am to judge that bucket correctly, can’t be healthy.”

“I never claimed it was,” Murtagh said dully.

“Why are you doing this, Tag?” Thorn said tiredly. “Please. We just want what’s best for you.”

“I just- I don’t want to rely on meds to fucking sleep,” he muttered. Wow, it hurt to lie.

“And what was it you so cleverly said to me the other day?” Murtagh winced. “It’s better to tell me you don’t want to talk about it than to lie, I think it was. So?”

“Then I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then you’re an ass,” Thorn snorted. “You need to talk about this.”

“Oh, so when it concerns you, it’s _back off_ ,” Murtagh barely held back a sneer, “but when it concerns me its fair game?”

“What I didn’t want to tell you wasn’t my secret to share,” Thorn said calmly.

Murtagh just narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t give me that look!” Thorn stood up. “What I didn’t share doesn’t make me lash out at random people!”

Murtagh couldn’t hold back the hurt glare he sent at his best friend.

“I just want to help.”

“I don’t want or need your help,” Murtagh sneered.

“Don’t be a fool! Everyone needs help, _especially_ you,” the redhead hissed.

“Too bad I won’t be getting any, then,” Murtagh growled. “Get out! GET OUT!”

Thorn shot him one last helpless look before stomping out.


	4. Cyanide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of a possibly disturbing scene in this chapter. There's nothing sexual about it, but it's not a particularly pleasant nightmare you're about to read.

It wasn’t hard to slip his prison mask back on. With Thorn pissed at him, it wasn’t hard to push others away. Or maybe Thorn was just tired of his shit, Murtagh couldn’t remember which. Normally he would have just put on a blank mask, but now he didn’t care. He wanted to be left alone, and this was the only way he knew how.

Orrin hadn’t bugged him once, and even Nasuada seemed to stay away, though Murtagh had felt her worried looks. He managed to stay polite towards the customers, though everyone else got a cold shoulder. He wondered how long it was until the boss came to talk to him.

Murtagh had stopped screaming during the nights too. At least, he didn’t wake up screaming anymore. But his so tight control on himself had side-effects; bad ones. Before he at least felt rested when he woke up; now he was constantly tired. If he didn’t have to throw up when he woke up, it took him ten minutes to stop shuddering.

It wasn’t that he refused to acknowledge he had a problem, he knew very well that he had one. He just refused to do something about it.

“Murtagh, this has got to stop!”

But there was someone that wouldn’t back down and that he hadn’t been able to run from. Tornac.

“Even if I hadn’t been talking to Angela, I would have been able to see the toll these nightmares are taking on you!” the older man ranted. “And now you’re taking this discomfort out on your friends? No, I cannot allow this to go on!”

Murtagh opened his mouth, but Tornac snapped his fingers two inches away from his nose. He flinched.

“Oh no, I know what you’re going to say,” Tornac said darkly. The tone sounded so wrong on his old friend. “That they aren’t so bad? Wrong. That you can handle them? Wrong again. That you deserve it? Wrong yet again!” He stopped his pacing. “Murtagh, it kills us to see you like this.”

Us? Murtagh didn’t think anyone but Tornac cared anymore. And apparently that was visible on his face.

“Oh, come off it!” Tornac snorted. “Your friends still care about you even if you treat them like crap. You were doing so well before your nightmares took control.”

“I’ve had them every night since I was arrested, Tornac,” Murtagh said tiredly.

“Yes, but with Angela you were learning to let it go.”

“That’s bullshit,” Murtagh snorted.

“Then fine, she was teaching you to let yourself go,” he scowled. “You opened up to Thorn, didn’t you?”

“The only thing she did right about me.”

Tornac appeared before him, his eyes thin and hard with anger. “Don’t talk about her like that. She has helped you in more ways than you realise.”

“Well, she screwed up in the end, proving that she too is human,” Murtagh said distastefully.

Murtagh felt his eyes widen when Tornac’s palm stopped inches away from his cheek. Murtagh flinched back.

“We’re all human, Murtagh. It’s not a bad thing. And we all make mistakes. Do not judge her so quickly.”

“I’ve been practically stalked after that brilliant shared session of hers! Just so some kid could apologise to me. He should have just left me alone,” Murtagh drawled. “He actually called me here. Angela must have given him my number. I should have her arrested.”

“Oh, so now you’re all for prosecuting someone despite your _lovely_ criminal record?” Tornac practically taunted.

Murtagh fell silent.

“If you could just try the pills,” Tornac said, suddenly sounding like himself again. “You don’t have to decide whether to keep taking them or not, just try it out one night.”

He scowled.

“What harm could come of it?”

Lots of things, none which Murtagh felt like mentioning.

“I’ll go and pick up the prescription for you, so you don’t have to go to her office. Just pick up when she calls and tell her you gave me the green light.” Tornac laid a warm hand on his shoulder. “Just one night, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll leave you alone.”

Tornac had left before Murtagh was even aware of having given him his consent.

\----

Murtagh stared at the small bottle of pills. He had joined Tornac to pick them up, but only because Tornac had insisted and because apparently he had needed to show some ID to get it. The bottle had been standing on his kitchen counter ever since.

It looked innocent enough. It was a small orange bottle with a white cap and a white label wrapped around it. The writing was in black and grey, though it was nearly hidden by a white and orange medical sticker. Murtagh cringed when he thought about it. That sticker spelled out his name and his prescribing doctor. He was tempted to rip it off, but he didn’t want to get closer to the bottle than he had to.

The night was beginning to fall, and still he had refused to look at the bottle on his kitchen counter.

_“Have you managed to stare the bottle into submission yet?”_

Murtagh wanted to growl, but forced it down. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 _“Like you haven’t been glaring at it like it was planning to attack you,”_ Tornac drawled. _“We’re not asking you to climb the Beor Mountains. Just one pill. If you don’t like the effects of it, you quit.”_

Murtagh fell silent. He fingered the water glass on the table. He almost fell in a trance at the soft sound his finger made when it circled the rim.

 _“I know you don’t want to, Murtagh, but maybe after a few more sessions with Angela you won’t need the pills anymore. This is just a test to see if they work at all,”_ Tornac said softly.

“I’m a guinea pig? Lovely,” he drawled.

_“This is the only medicine Angela felt comfortable giving you. But if it doesn’t work, and you’re willing to try again...”_

“I won’t be, and you know it.”

 _“Just, please Murtagh. Just this once,”_ the older man practically whispered.

Murtagh stood, grabbed the glass of water and moved into the kitchen. He put the glass down and glared at the bottle.

“Just this once,” he said and hung up.

He swallowed. Suddenly his mouth seemed dry. He slowly picked up the bottle and, easily getting around the child-proof cap, opened it. He shook one pill out and looked at it. It was small, white and had an oval shape. Murtagh snorted.

He slowly put the pill on his tongue and drank the rest of the water in the glass. He put the glass down with a soft bang.

Murtagh hung his head and laughed hollowly. He reached out and spit into his hand. There it was, a little fuzzy around the edges, but still pristine looking. The damn pill. He clenched his hand into a fist, ignoring the stickiness inside his palm.

He just couldn’t do it.

\----

“You didn’t try the pills,” Angela sighed.

Murtagh just tilted his head. He wondered what had given him away; that he had said that his night had been normal or that he looked like hell.

“I tried,” he admitted. “I couldn’t swallow it.”

“Because it was too big or because you didn’t want to?”

 _A little bit of both_ , he wanted to answer, but there was only so much lying he could take.

“Mhm,” she hummed. “Maybe you could try to grind it and put it in your food?”

Murtagh shrugged.

“But I think we should focus on why we’re here,” Angela brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Now that I finally have you here, and such.”

He wanted to feel guilty, but didn’t.

“Have you tried to talk to Mr. Rider, apart from when I...?” she let the sentence hang.

“No,” he said bluntly. “I have talked to his friend, however. Apparently she and my best friend’s fiancée are one and the same.”

Angela blinked. “You don’t say.”

Murtagh just crossed his arms and shrugged again.

“How is your best friend? You didn’t mention him during your last session.”

Murtagh pursed his lips. “We’re...having a fight.”

“Oh,” Angela folded her hands. “Why?”

“He thinks I’m being too short with Eragon,” he said bluntly.

Angela crocked an eyebrow. “And that’s all?”

“He wanted me to start taking the medication, I disagreed, we had an argument and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“It seems like a fairly easy thing to deal with...” she frowned. “Why aren’t you?”

“I’m too proud?” He tilted his head.

“Explaining it away isn’t going to help,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Then maybe I don’t know how.”

Angela tapped her pen against the surface of the desk. Murtagh followed the movement.

“How many friends do you have here, Murtagh?”

He jolted slightly. That wasn’t random at all. “...Three?”

Angela sighed. “Then why aren’t you trying to get back one of them? Three is a precious and small number.”

He had been called many things in his life, but a loser?

“Oh, don’t put words in my mouth,” she tsk’ed. Murtagh blinked. He hadn’t even opened his mouth. “I’m saying that when you have such precious friends, you should fight to keep them.”

Thorn hadn’t fought when he had left twelve years ago. Murtagh scowled. Was this where he was supposed to be the bigger man?

Then again, Thorn didn’t know what he had left him to. It wasn’t fair to hold him responsible for something he had no idea was going to happen. It was all Murtagh’s fault, really, when he thought about it.

“I think we both need time to cool down,” he replied finally.

“When was your fight?”

“...A few weeks ago.”

Angela tsk’ed. “That time has passed.”

Murtagh had never been the one to go to Thorn after they had fought. Thorn had always come to him, smacked him in the back of his head and somehow they had gotten over whatever they had been fighting about. He didn’t know how to deal with this.

“I...don’t know what to say,” Murtagh admitted.

Angela hummed. “I suspected as much. Just talk to him. Explain your side of this matter, listen to his side, and then come to an agreement.”

Unfortunately, Murtagh knew that what sounded simple always turned out to be the exact opposite.

\----

Murtagh was ninety-nine per cent certain that he was dreaming. That was odd, because he didn’t dream anymore; he just had nightmares.

He was in a cemetery. He had never dreamt that he had been in a cemetery before. In front of him there were six graves; four of them were fresh. For some reason he had flowers in his hands. Murtagh walked up and lay down one flower on each of the fresh graves before backing up again.

That was when the corpses started to show up.

The first was female. She appeared on top of the first grave. Her skin was ashen and clung to her bones. A single gunshot wound stood out horribly in the centre of her chest. Her hair was mattered and hung limply around her face. Her dead blue eyes never left his.

 _“Why didn’t you warn him?”_ the corpse cried. _“He could have saved me. Why didn’t you warn him?!”_

A second corpse appeared beside her. He was tall, almost too tall and his skin was blue. His eyes were clouded over and drops of water were still dripping from his clothes and hair. His blue lips opened. _“Why didn’t you try to save me? All you had to do was to call. Why didn’t you call?!”_

The third corpse appeared then. Somehow, this one seemed even skinner than the first. The hair was practically gone and his clothes hung around him. They were hospital clothes.

The man reached out his hand, his eyelids dropping over his stark white eyes slightly. _“Why didn’t you come to see me? I just wanted to see you one last time. Why, Murtagh? Why?”_

Strangely enough, the fourth grave remained undisturbed, but Murtagh continued to back up nonetheless. He didn’t want to stay if another corpse suddenly appeared from that grave. He flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and nearly tripped over his own feet.

 _“Why didn’t you listen to me, boy?”_ the corpse growled. His form was riddled with angry red cut marks. A twisted sneer was practically fixed on his face. _“Look at what you have done. All you had to do was to die. Why didn’t you die, boy?!”_

Murtagh shook his head and continued to stumble backwards blindly.

 _“Why didn’t you come? Come to me, Murtagh,”_ a second female voice whispered. _“Come to me, love.”_

Murtagh screamed. “GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!!”

Another corpse appeared before him then. The stab wounds were horribly fresh and were still bleeding. His flesh was white, and his eyes were still clouding over, but Murtagh knew he was dead. There was a huge gap in his chest, right above the heart. The heart was gone.

_“Why didn’t you listen? What did I do wrong? Why did you leave me alone to die?!”_

He screamed.

\----

Murtagh stared at the bottle of pills on front of him. He hadn’t slept after the last nightmare. It was now one day later, and the clock was slowly ticking closer to the sixth hour of the day.

In the back of his mind, he thought it was stupid of Angela to give him sleeping pills after his second unofficial suicide attempt. He had checked the dosage on the prescription. He didn’t know how much he would need, but if he drowned the whole bottle he was sure he would never wake up.

A loud knock on the door startled him. Murtagh dragged a hand through his hair as he stood up. It was six in the morning; not even Tornac visited him this early.

He opened the door and froze.

“Alright, I give. Will you talk to Thorn already!?” Saphira hissed.

Murtagh blinked. “How -?”

“Did I know where you live?” Saphira rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid. But that’s not the point. Will you talk to your best friend already?”

He licked his lips. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“That’s bull,” the blue eyed woman snorted. “He’s a mess because you refuse to talk to him. He’s just worried about you.”

With good reason too, apparently. Murtagh mentally winced when he thought back to his earlier musings.

“That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here this early.”

“My morning lecture got cancelled, so I decided to stop by,” Saphira said and crossed her arms. “Don’t tell me you were still asleep at ten a.m.”

It was ten a.m.? Murtagh wanted to laugh. Either his clock was broken, or he had been lost in his musings again.

“I didn’t realise it was ten o’clock,” Murtagh replied simply.

Saphira’s eyes narrowed. Murtagh didn’t like it when she took a good look at him. He knew he looked like shit, but there was no need to stare either.

“I can see why he worries,” she said finally. “Aren’t you sleeping?”

“Define sleeping,” he drawled.

Saphira sighed. “Could you please just talk to Thorn? I know you miss him as much as he misses you.”

He didn’t answer. Saphira shot him a wounded look before looking away. He waited until she was walking away before speaking.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Saphira stopped. “Only you two know how to fix this,” she said, and then she was gone.

\----

“I had a new nightmare the other day.”

Angela startled. She blinked owlishly at him. Apparently she couldn’t believe he was sharing information willingly. Well, he couldn’t either, so he didn’t blame her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t, actually, but Murtagh figured it was best if he did.

“I was in a cemetery and I saw dead people,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to elaborate.

“Just random dead people?” Angela tapped her pen against her writing pad.

“I saw my father, Tornac...” he licked his lips. “I heard my mother...”

“Go on,” she coached softly.

“Thorn and his fiancée...” he looked away.

“And?”

“Just those five,” he lied. “And I could see the way they had died.”

Angela frowned.

“My father looked like the last time I saw him...Saphira had been shot, Thorn had drowned...Tornac had died from his cancer...” his voice lowered until it was just a whisper.

“These people are obviously important to you. You’re scared that the ones that are still alive will leave,” Angela murmured. “And the dead still haunt you.”

“Thorn’s fiancée means nothing to me,” Murtagh frowned.

“Not yet, but maybe she will soon.”

“I’m going to try the pill tonight.”

Angela smiled.

\----

Murtagh had lied. He hadn’t been able to swallow the little pill; it had come straight up again. It was like his own body was punishing him. And he knew that his taste buds were far too sensitive, so he couldn’t trick himself to eat it with something else.

It was close to eight in the morning, and it was the second night that week he hadn’t slept. The night before, just hours before he had gone to Angela, he had had another nightmare. He had shaken himself awake before the dream could come to an end. That damn cemetery wouldn’t leave him alone.

Murtagh slouched even further, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He had found himself walking around seven a.m., and his feet had taken him to the college. It was practically deserted so early in the morning, but Murtagh had been able to watch professors and lecturers step out of their cars and walk inside, all looking in need of a good cup of coffee. A few students had arrived with their car or bicycle, but not many. Murtagh suspected it was too early yet.

A bus drove past him then and rolled to a stop at the bus stop across the road. Dozens of students stepped out and started to walk towards the college, some faster than others. He didn’t pay attention to any of them. That was, until a very familiar face suddenly came into view.

The brunet was walking among several others, yet he stood out somehow. He ruffled a hand through his hair and, unlike the others, jumped over the large puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. The brunet then turned and waited. A blonde slipped through the crowd just a few paces behind him. Murtagh watched them share a private grin and walk towards the college.

His heart was suddenly aching. Murtagh stood up and left before it was inclined to do something else.

\----

There had always been music in Arya’s bar, but Murtagh often ignore it. Like the conversation and laughter around him, he treated it as white noise. But that day, the song playing suddenly slammed right into his ears and refused to stop bugging him until he listened.

So he did.

As the second chorus began, he had almost memorized most of the lyrics. As he was alone behind the counter, he didn’t even notice it when he started to hum along.

“You have a nice voice.”

He froze. He reminded himself not to glare at the customers until they had ordered and paid before looking up.

“Did you take singing lessons as a child?” the girl purred. “Or maybe you’re playing in a band?”

Murtagh stared at her blankly. “Your order?”

“Give me one _Sex on the Beach_ and one _Knock Me Down and Fuck Me_ ,” the girl leered at him.

Murtagh found two glasses and began to mix the drinks. He saw her pout out of the corner of his eye and was tempted to sigh. Why did people insist on flirting with him? There was nothing interesting about him.

He finished the drinks, pushed them towards the girl and told her the price. She gave him the money, winked at him and left. Murtagh snorted and put it into the register.

“Someone sure has a fan base,” Orrin commented innocently.

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow.

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but...are you gay?”

Murtagh rolled his eyes and put away the bottles he had used earlier. “Why do you ask?”

“Because every girl that has come in here and flirted with you has left empty-handed,” Orrin said dryly.

“I could be in a committed relationship,” Murtagh shrugged.

“Doubtfully. No offense, but...”

Yeah, who was he kidding? How could he be in a committed relationship when he barely had friends? What a joke.

“It’s none of your business,” he answered finally.

Orrin shrugged and leaned onto the counter. “If you’re interested, I know a few guys -”

“I’m not,” Murtagh cut in quickly. And really, he wasn’t. His libido was practically non-existent these days, and then there was the whole deal with him being almost unable to commit to someone. Yeah, he was far from interested.

“Cool,” Orrin gave him a half-grin. “But if you ever want a date, just let me know.”

Murtagh picked up a few empty bottles and walked past him without answering.

“Ah, your favourite customer is back!” Orrin called after him.

Murtagh shouldered his way into the back. He put the bottles next to the others and walked back out. He didn’t care if Saphira was back, he didn’t care if Eragon or even Thorn was with her. All he wanted to do was to survive the last hour of his shift and go home to sleep.

Never mind that he wasn’t getting a lot of sleep lately, he just wanted to crash.

“What will it be?” Orrin was asking as the door swung shut behind him.

“Oh, nothing. I was looking for – ah, Murtagh, hello.”

He was really getting sick of this. Murtagh held back a wince and walked behind the counter. Orrin slipped out and started to gather empty glasses and bottles around in the bar at a very slow pace. Murtagh met Saphira’s eyes fearlessly.

“It’s been a week. Have you talked to him?” Saphira raised an eyebrow, daring him to lie.

Murtagh shook his head. He barely had the courage to stay asleep for more than two hours, much less to talk to his best friend.

“Well, at least you’re honest,” she pursed her lips. “Thorn really wants to talk to you.”

“He has legs of his own,” Murtagh drawled.

“You’re both stubborn morons, so no one is willing to make the first move.”

This time, Murtagh added silently. Thorn always had in the past. He wondered what had changed. He had probably stepped out of line or something like that.

“Are you here alone?” Murtagh drawled.

Saphira paused. She blinked and shook her head. Well, damn, apparently distractions didn’t work on her.

“Could you try to catch him after class tomorrow? It’d mean a lot to him if you took the initiative to talk,” she said softly.

“Why tomorrow?” he asked.

“We’re meeting our wedding planner tomorrow afternoon, and I’d like my fiancé to be smiling for once,” Saphira said with a small sad smile.

Murtagh frowned.

“His class ends at two. Please be there,” she said and left as quickly as she had come.

Murtagh stared after her for a minute before going back to work.

\----

He had actually gone soft, he thought to himself as he found himself back in the bench he had sat in not even a week ago. The clock was ten to two, and all he had to do now was to wait.

A small part of him - alright, a _large_ part of him couldn’t believe he was doing this. He had never been very skilled when it came to confrontations. He didn’t hate them, but he didn’t like them either, and therefore he stayed clear of them as much as he could. But Murtagh supposed that confrontations sometimes were inevitable.

The things he was willing to do for his friend.

Murtagh continued to stare into the air until he finally saw people start to mill out of the college. He checked his watch. Sure enough, it was 2:02. Perfect. Now he just had to watch out.

Thorn was easy enough to find. Murtagh stood up before he realised who was beside him. He stiffened. He could recognise that brown hair anywhere by now, for some strange reason. There wasn’t anything particularly eye-catching about Eragon, but somehow...

Murtagh squared his shoulders and crossed the road. He would just have to wait until Thorn walked to his car to talk to him. At least, he hoped that was how Thorn travelled to the school. He did not want to talk to the redhead when Eragon was present.

It was Thorn that noticed him first. The redhead suddenly paused, and Murtagh could hear Eragon ask what was wrong.

“Nothing. You just go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later,” Thorn murmured.

Eragon said something else, but a wannabe rapper walked past him, and all Murtagh could hear was the annoying rap beat flowing from the guy’s headphones.

“See you tomorrow.”

Murtagh saw Eragon nod before he walked towards the stop. Murtagh made sure to stay out of sight as he walked up to Thorn. The redhead watched him blankly.

He stopped when there was only a foot between them. Murtagh nodded. A long second passed before Thorn nodded back.

“Saphira told me where to find you.”

Thorn’s eyes lit up in recognition. “And?”

Murtagh scowled. “I’m...sorry.” Thorn blinked in shock. “I was a fool. I didn’t mean it. If anything, I need your help more than I need Angela’s.”

Thorn smiled slightly. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so bad. You do things on your own time. I should have remembered that.”

Murtagh shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“Obviously it is. You look like hell,” Thorn crocked an eyebrow.

Murtagh waved him off. “I’ll survive.”

“The hell you will.” Oh yes, Thorn was most certainly back. “When was the last time you had a good night sleep?”

“...Thirteen years ago?”

Thorn rolled his eyes. “I mean, after you got out of prison.”

“...A month ago, maybe.”

Suddenly Thorn didn’t look too happy anymore. “Murtagh -”

“I tried the pills,” he interrupted him. “I can’t swallow them.”

Thorn fell silent. He opened his mouth, but closed it again a second later. He raked a hand through his hair and frowned. “So you’ve actually tried them?”

Murtagh rolled his eyes. Since when did he bother to lie about such things?

“Alright. Well, I’m sure we can do something to correct that,” Thorn nodded and grabbed his shoulder. “Just you wait and see. I’ll have you popping those pills in no time,” he winked.

Murtagh wrinkled his nose. Suddenly he missed not having Thorn over his shoulder 24/7.

\----

He had forgotten why he was there. There had to be a reason he was willing to submit himself to this torture.

“You don’t need me,” Murtagh repeated.

Saphira tsk’ed. “Of course I do. You’re Thorn’s best friend. You know what he likes,” she said and took down another dress.

Murtagh wanted to groan. “I don’t know him that well anymore.”

“That’s why Eragon’s meeting us here,” Saphira said distractedly and let out a soft squeal of delight. “Oh, this one is perfect.”

“Yes, it quite is, isn’t it?”

Murtagh actually groaned. Great, now the saleswomen of doom were upon them.

“Do you need any help?” the woman smiled almost too widely.

“Yes, do you -”

Murtagh blocked out the rest. He considered starting to wear a sign that said ‘antisocial’. Apparently looking the part wasn’t enough anymore.

He sat down and watched Saphira and the saleswoman talk eagerly as they looked through the lines of dresses. Suddenly he remembered what Saphira had said earlier.

“Eragon’s coming?”

Saphira turned to look at him. “Why, yes.”

“Shouldn’t you ask your girl friends for opinions?” Murtagh suggested.

“Well, I would, but they’re all busy today,” Saphira said and walked into the changing room. “Don’t go anywhere!”

Murtagh leaned back into the chair and prepared himself for a very long afternoon.

“I never really got that new tradition where the bride asks the groom for his opinions on the dress,” the saleswoman remarked innocently.

Pah, innocent his ass. Murtagh didn’t even bother to look at her when he answered. “I’m not the groom.”

“No?”

Murtagh didn’t have to look at her to picture the predatory look on her face. He had unfortunately gotten used to them by now. That didn’t mean he didn’t hate them, though.

“No, but she wanted to borrow my queer eye for the afternoon,” he looked at her with a smirk. So what if he was lying? To her the difference between asexual and gay was non-existent. Either way she wasn’t his type.

The woman looked quite disappointed. Murtagh turned away from her again and thanked the gods that there weren’t any sales _men_ in the shop. That really was a double-edged blade to use.

The bell over the door chimed merrily. Murtagh flinched. He hated that sound.

“They’re right over there, sir.” Murtagh stiffened. He looked around himself. He and Saphira were the only ones in the shop. That meant –

“Oh.”

Eragon had arrived. Great, just great.

“Is that you, Eragon?” Saphira called out.

“Um, yeah!” Eragon replied.

“Great! Make sure Murtagh doesn’t go anywhere!”

Well fuck, there went his escape opportunity. Murtagh sat back down.

“...” Eragon shifted slightly.

Murtagh heard him take a seat in the chair beside him. No, scratch that - two seats away from him. No lingering hatred there, nope.

“Hi.”

Well, at least the kid was still polite. “Hello.” It only made sense that he was polite back, right?

The minute between Eragon arriving and Saphira stepping out of the changing room was the longest Murtagh had ever experienced.

“So, what do you guys think?” Saphira smiled prettily.

Murtagh crossed his arms. He heard Eragon give his compliments, but he wasn’t so sure. Sure, it was nice, but...

“No,” he shook his head.

Saphira blinked. She was the one who had wanted him to come, and Murtagh never did anything half-cocked.

“The skirt’s too wide. You’ll waddle down the aisle.” What? What the hell was he saying? Since when had he become an expert?

Judging by the look on Saphira’s face, which probably was mirrored by Eragon, told him that they were thinking the same.

“Um, okay,” Saphira blinked again. “I thought you were only kidding earlier,” she said and walked back into the changing room.

Murtagh stiffened. She had heard him? Great. Thorn was never going to let him live that one down.

The silence that followed almost made him wish that Eragon had commented on Saphira’s comment. Really, was it possible for two strangers to be that awkward around each other? Murtagh closed his eyes and cursed himself for getting up that day.

The next two hours were excruciating. Murtagh was almost ready to give up and say ‘yes, **that** is the dress’ to the next one, never mind if it made her look blown up or not.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The next one was actually perfect. Well, there you go.

“So?” Saphira bit her lip.

“It’s...wow,” Eragon breathed.

Well, now he had nothing to say. Murtagh rolled his eyes. Saphira looked at him hopefully. He gave a small nod.

Saphira smiled widely. Suddenly Murtagh saw what Thorn saw in her. She actually was beautiful.

“See, I told you I would need your help,” Saphira winked and went back in to get out of the dress. Murtagh snorted loudly. Judging by her giggle, she heard it too.

Well good, he had meant for her to.

“You were serious.”

Why God, why him? Murtagh only just caught himself before he groaned out loud again. Damn persistent women. Maybe he was gay?

“I was,” Murtagh replied dryly.

The woman sighed sadly. “Well, you two look very cute. I hope you’re happy together.”

Murtagh stared after her. Just what had she implied?! And judging by Eragon’s splutter, he had caught the meaning behind her words too. Damn troublesome woman!

“What was that!?” Eragon choked out.

Murtagh figured he owed it to the kid to at least look at him when he answered. “She thinks I’m gay. I didn’t bother to correct her.”

“Next time, do!”

Murtagh wasn’t sure what hurt more; that Eragon was disgusted by the thought of them being a couple, that he was homophobic, or the fact that it actually hurt to hear him say that. He stood up and pushed the thought away. Why did he care? It wasn’t like he was going to see much of Eragon after the wedding.

...Wait. When had he agreed to attend again? Damn. Thorn probably had tricked him into saying yes right after he had gotten up from a night pretending to sleep. That accounted for why he was stuck picking out Saphira’s wedding dress in the first place.

Either he had to start sleeping, or remember to take a tape recorder with him wherever he went. Murtagh wanted no more surprises in his life.

He shook his head. “Tell her I’m leaving,” he said nonchalantly and left the shop without further ado.

\----

“So, since when were you gay?”

He knew it. Murtagh dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. Damn, Saphira sure worked fast. It had only been a day.

“Since women started hitting on me in bridal shops,” Murtagh drawled.

“So it’s just a cover?” Thorn crocked an eyebrow.

Murtagh pulled the blanket off himself and laid it messily over the back of the couch. Yet another night spent on the couch. Well, he didn’t want to associate his bed with not sleeping, per Angela’s orders, so he wandered off to the couch instead. Apparently a few very boring and very strange night-time shows actually managed to put him to sleep. That only gave him even stranger nightmares, but that was ok. Some of them actually were hilarious. It helped him cope, strangely enough.

“I guess so,” he shrugged.

“Until you step into a gay bar, because then you’re straight?” Thorn asked dryly.

“Pretty much,” he replied. He didn’t see what the big deal was. He just wasn’t sexually active. It wasn’t like the world was going to end because he wasn’t getting any.

“Then what are you?”

Hmm, to tell the truth or not to tell the truth. Well, if Thorn planned to force him to attend his bachelor party, something Murtagh feared he would, it was best to tell the truth.

“Asexual.”

Thorn stared at him in disbelief. “Maybe there are some things beside your nightmares that Angela can help you with.”

And just what was he implying? That his fucked up childhood made him not want to be sexually active? ...Alright, so maybe that wasn’t so far off.

“Whatever,” he waved him off and padded into the bedroom.

He later cursed himself for not having told Thorn to keep his mouth shut.

\----

“Is there something else you would like to talk about?”

Murtagh stared at her blankly. No, there wasn’t, but obviously Angela thought so. And when he thought back to last week’s happenings, he cursed himself. Thorn could have blabbed to Tornac, because apparently they did chat when they bumped into each other, and Tornac could easily have blabbed to Angela. Was nothing sacred anymore?

Nothing probably was when it came to murderers.

“No,” he told her simply. If she wanted to talk about his sexuality, or lack of thereof, then she would have to bring it up.

“Alright,” she scribbled something down. “How is your drinking?”

“I don’t drink anymore,” he said honestly. And he didn’t. The one liquor bottle he had left in his apartment he planned to give to Thorn at the bachelor party, and he had left it in Tornac’s hands just to be safe. He didn’t drink at the bar, and he didn’t buy beers or shop at the liquor store.

“Good,” Angela smiled. “And what about your dreams?”

She was moving through their usual conversation at high-speed. If he were to guess, Murtagh believed she would bring up his lack of sexuality before the end of the session.

“They’re no longer just about _him_.”

Angela’s smile widened just a fracture. “Good, good.”

“And I’ve started to stop lying in bed waiting to fall asleep.”

Why was he feeding her with so much information? Maybe he hoped to distract her from what she obviously planned to take up later?

“Even better,” she nodded. “But you’re still unable to take the pills?”

He nodded once. They still tasted like shit and wouldn’t go down no matter what he tried to swallow them with.

“Alright. At least you’re still trying...?” she trailed off.

He nodded in answer. He tried occasionally, but he had mostly given up.

“Mhm. And seeing as you’re talking to you best friend again, I don’t think we have anything else to talk about today,” she brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Unless, of course, you have something you wish to discuss?”

“My friends don’t respect my privacy, but that’s about it,” he shrugged.

Angela blushed slightly. Hn, he had been right. Figures.

“Well, I’m sure they only want what they believe is best for you.”

“What’s best for me is to be able to have some privacy,” he crocked an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you should tell them that?” she said and pushed her glasses up her nose.

“I do. They just don’t listen.”

“Ah.” She put her pen down. “But then I guess we’re done here.”

He nodded. He pushed himself up at the same time as she did. “I want to ask you something before you leave.”

This couldn’t be good.

“I want you to reconsider a shared session.”

He stiffened. After everything she knew he had been through with Eragon, she still wanted him to?!

“Not necessarily with Mr. Rider, but I want you to give it another go. You’ve come very far, but we both know you’re keeping something from me,” Angela said gravely.

“And you think I’ll open up to a complete stranger?” he drawled.

“It’s not unheard of,” she shrugged. “In most cases, people find it easier to talk to a complete stranger as opposed to someone they know.”

“Then I guess you can rule out Eragon.” Murtagh shouldered on his jacket. “We can no longer be viewed as strangers.”

Something flickered in Angela’s eyes. “Oh?”

“Thorn and Saphira are determined to keep me in their lives. The kid and I are...acquaintances at best. And not very good ones,” he stared at her pointedly. “I get shoved his way enough by my friends. Don’t you start too.”

Angela looked down before looking back up. She nodded. “I’ll see you in three weeks.”

He nodded sharply. He left without sparing the waiting room a glance.

\----

It had been a while, but as he hung over the toilet seat, he guessed it was due. He spat out the last residue of vomit in his mouth and flushed. He pointedly didn’t look into the mirror as he washed his mouth and face.

He spat out the last of the toothpaste when he heard the front door open. A visitor. Great. For a second he actually wished it was a burglar rather than one of his friends.

“Go away,” he called out and put away the toothbrush.

“My, aren’t we being rude this morning?”

Murtagh just grunted. He finished attempting to look more human and padded out of the bathroom.

“Rough night?” Tornac asked.

Murtagh didn’t even bother to answer. He knew he looked like shit. He walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of the coffee Tornac had obviously made while Murtagh had been in the bathroom.

“You could always ask Angela for a different prescription...” the other trailed off.

Murtagh looked at him.

Tornac scowled. “Why are you so against this?”

Murtagh shrugged.

Tornac circled the rim of his coffee cup with his finger. Murtagh took small sips from his own.

“There is one thing we haven’t tried,” Tornac spoke up suddenly.

Murtagh frowned. He opened his mouth, but was cut off.

“It’s not a drug,” Tornac smiled. “Just plain old body heat.”

Murtagh blinked. “...Are you asking me to take a bed mate?”

The blond laughed. “No, but I’m telling you that’s the one thing we haven’t tried. Talking doesn’t help, you can’t swallow the medication...you’ve never actually tried to share your bed with someone before. Who knows, it might help.”

Murtagh doubted that. Besides... “I’m not interested in a relationship, and I can’t just ask a random person on the street if they want to sleep beside me at night.”

Tornac frowned. “I wasn’t talking about a random person, but if you aren’t interested in a relationship...”

Murtagh just shrugged. He wasn’t. And he doubted anyone was interested in him on a longer basis than a one-night stand.

“I know that look,” the older man scowled. “Stop looking down on yourself.”

Murtagh rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t.”

“You were,” Tornac snorted. “You cannot think about yourself and not bash yourself. It’s your speciality,” he sighed. “There has to be something you like about yourself.”

“No.”

“Be sure to let Angela know.”

As if. The less ammunition she had on him, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: _Sex On the Beach_ and _Knock Me Down and Fuck Me_ are drinks.


	5. Phenol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slight humour from the last chapter continues here. In my opinion, every dark story needs some humour or light spots to make up for the rest.

He knew he wasn’t dying, but it sure felt like it. Damn him for not calling in sick.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Murtagh glared at the other in answer.

No, he was not already, but like hell he wasn’t going to admit that. “I just didn’t sleep all that well last night.”

Orrin snorted. “You look like death warmed over. Twice. That means that you’re sick. Go and talk to Arya. She’ll let you go home early.”

Like hell he was! “It’s just a small cough,” Murtagh said more huskily than normal. And if that was his bedroom voice, he was screwed. Not that he was looking for a date. Then again, it was probably just his blocked nose making him sound all distorted.

Orrin crocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “You’re lucky you’re hot, or you would have scared the costumers away by now. Nice raccoon eyes, by the way.”

Murtagh flipped him off.

Orrin blinked in surprise. A second passed before he let out a soft chuckle. “You’re not going to serve any drinks. Just take the empty bottles out to the back,” he said and walked out of the bar. “I’m going to talk to the boss.”

Murtagh scowled. In less than five minutes, he was going to get kicked out of there. Lovely. He _should_ have called in sick.

“Murtagh?”

He wanted to die. Violently. Preferably now. Was that too much to ask for?

“Are you alright?” Saphira asked softly.

“Does it look like it?” he drawled.

“No, it doesn’t,” a different female voice answered.

Murtagh groaned out loud. Great, the boss had arrived.

“Quite frankly, you look like shit,” Arya tsk’ed. “Go home, and don’t come back until you’re one-hundred per cent healthy again.”

Did that mean he was fired? Murtagh smirked slightly. He was sure he looked even more ill when he did it, but he didn’t care. He had **never** been healthy, especially not mentally.

“I’ll make sure he gets home safely,” Saphira said.

Well, as long as she was the only one that followed him home. Murtagh sighed and surrendered to his fate.

“Great,” Arya smiled. “I don’t want to lose my favourite bartender because he got seriously ill.”

Wait, what?

Saphira giggled. “I’ll make sure he gets better. Thorn’ll love this,” she took hold of his arm and started to pull him towards the door. And really, Murtagh would have fought, had he had the strength.

Arya waved at them just as the door closed. Murtagh hung his head and started to massage his temples.

“Good thing I drove here,” Saphira said softly. “What were you thinking, going to work like this?” she tsk’ed.

“Hn.”

Saphira rolled her eyes and pushed him into the passenger seat. Murtagh buckled up, and in no time they were driving.

“How have you been?”

Murtagh turned his head. Ouch, that actually hurt. Alright, so he was an idiot. He was calling in sick next time, damn his pride. Being sent home from work was more damaging to the pride than to call in sick, anyway.

“Peachy,” Murtagh drawled.

She snorted. “At least you haven’t changed.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he frowned.

“No, just two weeks,” she glanced at him from out of the corner of her eye. “I know you’re avoiding me, because you’re avoiding Eragon. Where I am, he is.”

What was she majoring in again? Because she was just a bit too perceptive for his taste.

“And? I just don’t want to insult the kid even more,” he said and closed his eyes. Alright, so that was a bad idea. He opened his eyes again and tried to keep the nausea at bay.

Saphira muttered something under her breath.

“What was that?”

Saphira ignored him and parked in front of his building. “Do you need me to help you up?”

Murtagh scowled at her. “No thanks,” he got out of the car and stumbled. He heard her mutter and a second door slam shut. “I’m fine.”

She walked around the car and put his arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, I can see that. Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

They walked in silence. They took the elevator, because Saphira refused to drag his ass up two flights of stairs. Her words, not his.

“You’re really strong,” he grunted as she helped him down the hallway to his apartment.

“Please. My best friend is a guy. Who do you think saved whom from bullies?” she snorted.

Murtagh blinked. Well, he would never have guessed that. Interesting.

...Why was that interesting?

“Here we are.” They came to a stop. “Going to open the door?”

Murtagh pulled back his arm and fished out his keys. He stumbled into the apartment, barely remembering to kick off his shoes.

“You can go now,” he walked into the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge. He searched his memory and could happily conclude that the bucket was still beside the bed from his earlier...encounter with it.

“You sure you’re going to be fine on your own? I can call Thorn and -”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he interrupted. “I just need to sleep.”

She sighed. “Alright. Feel better, then.”

He grunted. He walked over to lock the door only after he had heard her leave. He braced himself on the wall as he walked towards the bedroom. Once there, he sat down and struggled to get out of his jeans. He kicked them off after a minute of struggling with the belt.

Why the hell had he decided to wear a belt, anyway? They were more trouble than they were worth.

He lay down and let out a pained groaned. And now he had a full night of delirious nightmares ahead of himself. Lovely.

\----

The following week was filled with barely conscious moments and a lot of puking. Murtagh was also very sure he had been feverish. With a headache that felt like the worst hangover on earth combined with the urge to puke out his guts and nerve-wreaking nightmares, Murtagh wasn’t sure how he had gotten himself through the week without dying.

During his conscious moments, he knew that someone had been taking care of him. He knew the cloth on his forehead hadn’t replaced itself, and the bucket sure hadn’t grown legs and had started to rinse itself. Someone had rubbed the small of his back during his more violent puking, and there were times when a warm hand had caressed his forehead when he had gotten out of a rather nasty nightmare. Someone had fed him and made sure he had had plenty to drink. But what Murtagh couldn’t remember was who that person had been.

What he did remember was waking up on a Sunday morning and feeling awake for once. His body felt weak, and he was sure he smelled and looked bloody awful, but he felt better. Much better.

“Ah, finally conscious are we?”

Murtagh pushed himself up with his elbows. Thorn crocked an eyebrow.

“No, don’t tell me,” Murtagh interrupted huskily. “I looked like death warmed over?”

“Thrice,” Thorn shot in dryly. “Then again, I don’t think I’ve seen you that ill in all the years I’ve known you.”

Murtagh shrugged. “Did you take care of me?”

“Hell no. That was Tornac. I have school, so I stopped by when I could,” Thorn grinned softly. “But it’s good to see you up and able to form complete sentences again.”

The hazel eyed man rolled his eyes. He pushed himself out of bed and stumbled slightly. Thorn was instantly there, steadying him. Murtagh pushed him off.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

The redhead snorted. “That’s apparently what you said last time, and look where that got you.”

Murtagh waved him off and proceeded to walk semi-steadily into the bathroom. He needed to shower. Now.

A good hour later he stumbled back into his bedroom and got dressed in clean clothes. Were clean clothes supposed to feel that good? He shook his head and walked into the living room.

Thorn was still there. Murtagh barely spared him a glance as he walked into the kitchen. He needed something to eat. He supposed crackers were best. He had thrown up enough to last a lifetime. It was almost enough to make him rethink asking Angela for a different prescription. Only almost, though.

He picked up the box of crackers and nibbled them as he walked in to join Thorn. It was then he noticed it.

“Since when did you wear glasses?”

Thorn peaked up from the book he was reading. “I started a few years ago. It’s only for reading, though.”

Murtagh sat down. “Hn,” he fished out another cracker and started to nibble it.

Thorn went back to his reading.

Murtagh was contemplating the pros and cons of turning on the TV when Thorn spoke.

“I didn’t know Vanir was your neighbour.”

Murtagh frowned. Who?

Thorn looked at him. “Don’t give me that look. He told me you’ve met. In the laundry room, I think it was.”

Murtagh scowled. That prick? “You know him?”

“He’s a friend of a friend,” the redhead shrugged.

“What about him?”

“He told me to say hello, and that he’s glad you’ve finally found a way to keep quiet at night,” Thorn drawled. “He’s the neighbour you mentioned that confronted you about your nightmares.”

He didn’t respond. That hadn’t been a question after all.

“Oh, and you’re coming to my bachelor party, by the way,” Thorn went back to his book.

Murtagh wanted to ask if a certain someone was going to be there, but caught himself just in time. “Me, at a bachelor party? I’d be the only sober one.”

“Then someone can drive the rest of us home,” Thorn smirked.

“Right, because I do happen to have a driver’s license that allows me to drive a bus,” Murtagh snorted.

“Then I have someone to drive me home. The rest can take cabs.”

Murtagh had to admit that he was relieved when no other names were mentioned. There was one problem though.

“I don’t have a car.”

Thorn laughed.

Murtagh rolled his eyes and sat down. He turned on the TV and flipped through the channels to try to find something to watch. There was a show about lions showing on Animal Planet. It was better than the lame reality TV shows all the other channels seemed to be airing, so he put down the remote and watched.

A few minutes later, Thorn was still staring at the same page in his book. Murtagh was tempted to ask what was wrong.

“Can I ask you something?”

Murtagh was saved from having to do so when Thorn finally spoke up. He nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off the screen. There was a commercial about a show that was going to be sent later that night. It looked interesting enough.

“Would you be my best man?”

He froze. He looked over at Thorn.

The redhead had closed the book and taken off his glasses. He looked a little anxious.

Murtagh wet his lips. “Why me?”

Thorn snorted. “You’re my best friend. That’s a no-brainer.”

Murtagh fell silent. Thorn really looked like he wanted Murtagh to say yes, and he had already stated that he wanted Murtagh to come at the bachelor party and the wedding. Even if they had had their disagreements and even fights, Thorn still wanted him around.

Slowly, he nodded.

Thorn grinned widely. “Thanks, man.”

Murtagh just shrugged. He turned back to the TV where the earlier show was showing again. The lionesses had caught a prey and were tiring it out.

“You know that this means that you have to come to the bachelor party, right?” Thorn said almost smugly.

Murtagh cursed. Thorn just laughed.

\----

“My friends think I have relationship issues,” Murtagh said dryly.

Angela blinked up at him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because lately Thorn has taken a liking to point out that I’ve never been in one,” he crossed his arms. “And he’s been bugging me to talk to you about it.”

“Well, just because you’ve never been in a relationship -”

“I’m also asexual.” Angela closed her mouth.

There was a heavy silence between them. Murtagh knew it was going to be a mistake to mention it, and he had been right.

“...Are you sure?” she said finally.

He nodded sharply.

“Well, not all of us have a sexual drive. In most cases, however, that is because they simply haven’t found their type,” Angela tapped her pen against her desk. “Do you masturbate regularly?”

Murtagh wanted to grin at the slight blush in her cheeks. It was basically invisible, unless you were looking for it.

As for her question though... “No.”

“Have you masturbated before?”

He crocked an eyebrow. He nodded.

“When you were a teenager, right?” He nodded again. “Have you ever engaged in sexual intercourse, not including your earlier abuse?”

What was up with all these questions? He shook his head.

“I suspected as much. And when you were a teenager, you only masturbated because you were already engorged, most likely after a wet dream, am I right?”

He nodded a little hesitantly.

“During your years in prison you never found any form of release, am I right?”

“And?” He was getting sick of nodding.

“Well, since you’ve never initiated anything sexual with yourself or anyone else, it’s understandable that you don’t think that sex is a big deal,” Angela pushed her glasses up her nose. “On account of your rather traumatic past, it’s even more understandable.” She folded her arms. “You associate it with something horrible, painful, or maybe you’ve even told yourself you’re not missing out. That it’s boring.”

He hated it when it she was that insightful, no matter how good it was for him to hear what she had to say.

“Because of the people you’ve lost in your life, you tell yourself that you don’t need someone else that is most likely going to leave anyway. And because you think of yourself as asexual, you don’t see the point in taking a partner when you’re not going to wish to engage in any sexual or romantic activities with them.”

He squirmed slightly.

“So instead of finding out your sexual preference, you’ve decided to push all urges aside and live an asexual life, because that’s no more than you deserve,” she tsk’ed.

“So?” he drawled.

“So you’re wrong,” she told him bluntly. “And you should do something about it.”

“...Are you telling me to go home and wank?”

The blush was back. He let the hint of a smirk grace his lips.

“No, though it’s probably what you should do,” Angela said dryly. She cleared her throat and continued in a more professional tone. “I’m telling you to give up the notion that you don’t deserve someone. I want you to look into yourself and try to find out where your preferences lie. And I don’t mean that you give it a half-cocked try and then come back here and tell me I was wrong. Really give this a shot, Murtagh. You can only gain something from doing this.”

Murtagh rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious,” she crocked an eyebrow. “And I want a report during our next meeting. And then I don’t mean how many times you’ve masturbated,” she snorted. “I want you to tell me if you’ve tried to look into yourself, and if so, what you’ve learned from it.”

Great, now he had homework. Just the thing he was missing.

\----

Murtagh glared at him venomously. Didn’t Thorn know what time it was?!

“Oh, give me a break. I told you yesterday that we were going out to get our tuxes fixed today,” Thorn crossed his arms.

“One of the people at work called in sick. I had to take the night shift,” he said coldly. “I went to bed three and a half hours ago.”

Thorn rolled his eyes. “My apologies, then, but we need to go. We have an appointment.”

Murtagh muttered curses under his breath and stalked into his bedroom to get dressed. He heard Thorn enter the apartment after him.

“Have I told you that she’s doing wonders, lately? Angela, that is. You’re acting more and more like the Tag I knew back in the day.”

Murtagh paused. He was? He shrugged and finished pulling the t-shirt over his head. Whatever. He grabbed his cell phone from the bedside table and walked out, right past Thorn and put his shoes on. He found his keys, zipped up his thin hooded jacket and pushed Thorn out the door. The sooner they were done, the sooner he could sleep.

He really didn’t care that he was only going to end up getting a new round of nightmares, he just wanted to _sleep_.

“Who else is going to be there?” Murtagh asked gruffly. He cleared his throat. Oh yeah, you could hear all the hours of sleep he hadn’t gotten earlier that morning.

“My other groomsmen and such,” Thorn shrugged. “My dad passed away a few years ago, but you get to meet my mom again. Saphira’s an orphan though, so she had to find someone else to walk her down the aisle.”

“Who?” Why was he so curious? Maybe he was just trying to stay awake? Yeah, that had to be it.

“You’ll meet him later.”

Murtagh grunted.

They arrived at the store fifteen minutes later. Murtagh took one look inside and sighed. Obviously the few guys that were there were friends of Thorn. Their party was the only one in the store. That was both a relief and not.

Thorn pushed him towards the tailor, and Murtagh groaned mentally. Alright, so for today he was straight. Thorn seemed to have noticed his inner turmoil, for he sent him a wide smirk. Murtagh flipped him off.

“Ah, finally the groom has arrived!” the tailor cried happily. “Now the action can finally begin!”

Murtagh stood by and watched Thorn get measured. He was surprised when the tailor did it in a very professional manner. Then again, they couldn’t all be the touchy-feely gay tailors everyone always saw on TV.

He instantly approved of the suit that the tailor put together for Thorn. It didn’t make him look bulky or huge, as Thorn actually was. He looked classy and even handsome.

Thorn turned to show the suit to the small crowd. A few guys cat-called him, to which Thorn responded by flipping them off.

“Hey, you’re that dude from the bar.”

Murtagh turned his head. The blond before him looked vaguely familiar. He narrowed his eyes and then finally concluded that he had seen him with Saphira and Eragon a few times at the bar. He had never gotten his name, though.

“And you are?”

“Aksel,” he held out his hand. “Elve. Arya’s my sis.”

Murtagh shook the hand briefly. He would never have guessed, even though their green eyes were the same shade.

“And you would be...Murtagh, right?” Aksel asked. Murtagh nodded. “Cool. Saphira’s told me about you.”

Only her? Good. Murtagh went back to look at another guy who was getting a suit put together.

“Oh, and Eragon of course.”

It had been too much to hope for after all.

“Hn.”

“Aksel, stop talking to him.”

And _that_ had been too much to hope for too. He really should have figured that Eragon was going to be there. He was after all Saphira’s best friend and, from what Murtagh had understood, a good friend of Thorn as well.

“What?” Aksel whined.

“Yes, you should stop talking to me,” Murtagh drawled. Thorn met his eyes. Despite the frown on Thorn’s face, he continued. “Who knows what sort of bastard germs you might get from being too close to me?”

Thorn slapped his palm against his forehead. Hey, he should be happy Murtagh hadn’t called himself something else.

“Lol. That was a nice way to put it,” Aksel laughed.

...There was actually someone that said ‘lol’ outside of chatrooms? Dear God. Now he had seen it all.

“Yeah, whatever. Run off with your friend now,” Murtagh crossed his arms.

“That friend has a name, yanno,” Aksel drawled.

“I know. But by using it, I’d hint that we were more than simple acquaintances. I’d hate for him to be associated with the likes of me.”

He could hear Thorn’s growl from across the room. Murtagh crocked an eyebrow. He thought they had been talking quietly, and considering that the rest of the men there were chatting together, he was surprised Thorn knew what had been said.

“Alright, whose turn is it now?” the tailor cried happily.

Was that guy doped or something? No one could be that happy and not be high on something.

“Oh, you over there,” the tailor waved. Murtagh was very afraid that he was talking to him. “Yes you, the broody one.” Murtagh resented that. He wasn’t broody. “Come, come.”

Murtagh scowled and walked up. Thorn looked torn between glaring at him and looking amused. Some best friend he was. He braced himself to be bored even more.

Thorn walked up to him after the tailor had notated his measurements. “He’s not going to start liking you if you continue to insult him,” he said quietly.

“Don’t want him to like me,” Murtagh drawled. “How many haven’t gotten tailored yet?”

“Just you and two more,” Thorn replied. “Why don’t you want him to like you?”

“Do I need a reason all of a sudden?” Murtagh rolled his eyes. “I hate this.”

“Well, you’re going to have to bear with it. And yes, you do.”

“He doesn’t want to be my friend and I don’t want him to be my friend. Therefore it’s no point for him to like me. What more is there to it?” Murtagh whispered just as the tailor returned.

Was that a bundle of... _colours_ in his arms? Murtagh blinked. What the hell? He took another look at the tailor and saw the coloured slacks and multi-coloured striped shirt he was wearing. Great. He was going to _love_ this.

“No,” he said bluntly.

“Oh, don’t be so negative,” the tailor tsk’ed. “I know that the groom is wearing black, and the others here are wearing grey and black, but for the groomsmen I was thinking -”

“No,” Murtagh repeated. “I’m not wearing...that. And I thought the groomsmen were supposed to match the bridesmaids.”

“In that case, you’d be wearing violet,” the tailor drawled.

“Then make it either dark grey or black with a violet tie,” Murtagh argued. There was no way he was wearing light grey or white with a dark purple shirt. No. Fucking. Way.

The tailor blinked. “That might...actually work.”

Murtagh was tempted to let him know how obvious that was. The tailor muttered something to himself and wandered off.

Thorn gave him a surprised look. “Sure you weren’t kidding when you -”

“I was kidding,” Murtagh stressed.

“For a straight guy, you sure have a keen eye,” Thorn drawled.

Murtagh flipped him off.

The tailor came back then, still muttering to himself, but with a new and darker set of clothes hanging over his arm.

“Looks good,” Murtagh stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’ll go now.”

“But you need to try them on first!” The tailor pushed a pair of slacks and a jacket into his hands. “Now, off you go.”

Murtagh stared down at the clothes with distaste. The tailor shooed him towards the dressing room. Murtagh pulled the curtain closed and proceeded to strip. It took him less than a minute to conclude that the clothes looked acceptable on him and fit right. He then changed and walked back out of the dressing room, shoving the clothes back into the startled tailor’s arms.

“It fits, and now I’m leaving,” he said and smiled as he left the shop.

\----

Murtagh stared at the wall. He knew she was talking, but no matter what he did, he just couldn’t focus on what she was saying. It may or may not be because of the two hours of sleep he had managed to scrape together the night before.

“Murtagh!”

He looked at her drowsily. Angela pursed her lips. “Another rough night?”

He shrugged. What nights weren’t rough?

“That’s it; I’m giving you a new prescription **and** a shared session,” she said sternly.

Hey now, he wasn’t that tired! “I refuse.”

“To what?” she didn’t stop writing on the pad in front of her. “The meds or the session?”

“The session. I’m not doing it.”

“Too bad, because you’re doing it,” she ripped the paper she had been writing on from the pad and handed it to him. “Here is a new prescription. The tablets melt on your tongue. If the taste is particularly bad, swallow it down with some water.”

“I don’t want a shared session,” he stressed, though he pocketed the prescription.

Angela crocked an eyebrow. “You’re so tired you can’t even sit straight. You only get enough hours to function on a basic level in the morning, and you still haven’t done what I asked you to.”

“My friends seem to think I’m gay,” Murtagh hid a yawn behind his hand. “Isn’t that at least doing research?”

“And why would they think that?”

“Apparently my sense of style is too good for me to be straight,” he drawled.

Angela hummed. “No other reason they think so?”

He shook his head. If they had, then they hadn’t shared them with him.

“Well, that is some progress,” the redhead rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Once you start to sleep better at night, you might feel more complied to talk about your nightmares, though you’ve opened up remarkably about them already,” she removed her glasses. “We’ve really come a long way, Murtagh.”

He crocked an eyebrow.

“We have. In the beginning you would barely talk to me. You hardly, if ever, shared any details with me and you were almost hostile. You’ve warmed up,” she smiled softly. “It’s good. Then again, you have been coming to me for nearly eight months now. If there had been no progress, I would have been very concerned about you.”

Eight months? Had it already been that long?

“The shared session is to get you to talk more about your nightmares. I doubt you’d allow me to schedule one to talk about your sexual preference,” she paused. “Or lack of one. Is there anything else I should schedule up for?”

He tilted his head.

“Your days in prison. How were they?” she asked.

“Boring. Nothing happened, apart from my ‘episode’,” Murtagh smirked bitterly.

“That’s something you should talk about with me, should it ever become an issue,” she wrote something down. “You still freeze up about your childhood, so that’s a no-go, so is the reason you went to prison...the only things you can talk about are your nightmares and sexual difficulties.”

Really, when she put it like that, it sounded like he was impotent.

“Will you allow me to find a person suitable for these things?” Angela asked softly.

He blinked. She was giving him a choice? Wait a minute...she hadn’t given him a choice the first time.

“Why didn’t you ask me these questions the first time?” he drawled.

“Because at that time the point of the session was to get you to interact with another human being. Now you have something in particular to talk about,” she smiled softly. “So?”

“It’s going to be another failure.”

She shook her head. “Maybe. I’ll call you with further information.”

He nodded. Somehow it felt like he had signed his own death sentence.

\----

The session was later that same week. Murtagh still hadn’t dared to try the new pills, despite Thorn and Tornac’s pleadings. He would do it on his own time, damnit.

Murtagh stared at the woman in front of him in disbelief. He was supposed to talk to that? Her hair looked like it had a life of its own, and he was pretty sure she was drooling. Because of him, that was.

Angela had done better when she had picked Eragon, for fucks sake.

“Nice to meet you, but I won’t be staying,” he said dryly. “Have a nice day.”

Angela followed him outside. “What was wrong with her?” she crocked an eyebrow.

“She was drooling over me,” he stressed. “I won’t talk to her.”

“She -”

“I don’t care if she has the answers to all life’s mysteries, I won’t talk to her.”

Angela shut her mouth. Murtagh stared at her for a minute. “There is one more -”

“Male or female?” he interrupted.

“Male, and no, it’s not Mr. Rider,” she added dryly.

He couldn’t believe that he was about to ask what he was about to ask, but... “Sexual preference?”

“You’ll have to ask him. I don’t give out -”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted her again. “Doctor-patient confidentiality. Say, since when did that not include giving out other people’s phone numbers?”

Angela blinked up at him. “Excuse me?”

“Eragon. He had my phone number. You did give it to him, right?” he frowned.

“No,” she shook her head. “That’d be violating that confidentiality.”

“Then how did he get my number?” Murtagh crossed his arms.

“Are you listed? If he remembered your name, he could have looked you up,” Angela checked her watch. “I have to go now, but I’ll see you at next week’s session.”

“So soon?” he blinked.

“Yes. Another shared one. I will see you through one shared session, Mr. Morann,” she smirked softly and left him there.

Murtagh shook his head and walked out of the lobby. He wished her good luck on her quest.

\----

“When is this bachelor party anyway?” Murtagh drawled.

Thorn had invited himself to his apartment that day. Thorn had even brought a few beers. Murtagh intended to stay away from those.

“Next month, on the 23rd,” Thorn said and took another sip from his bottle.

Murtagh rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the pointless action movie that was being aired on some random movie channel.

“And I still have to come?”

“Yup,” Thorn grinned widely. “You’re my best man; you have to be there.”

Murtagh snorted. He wished he didn’t have to.

“But enough about that,” Thorn put the bottle down. “Tell me about these ‘shared sessions’ of yours.”

“They were complete and utter disasters. The first one couldn’t stop drooling at me. I left her a minute into the damn thing,” Murtagh put a new piece of popcorn into his mouth. “The second one couldn’t stop staring at my groin.”

“That was the guy?”

Murtagh just grunted.

“Obviously gay, then,” Thorn chuckled.

“I left two minutes after shaking his hand. He was a damn creep,” Murtagh scowled.

“And that was all the ones that are approved to participate in shared sessions? Wow,” Thorn let out a low whistle. “You may not be banging them, but you’re sure working your way through the candidates real fast.”

Murtagh gave him the finger.

They sat in silence for a while. Murtagh could tell Thorn had something more to say, but let him say it on his own time.

“There’s always Eragon, you know,” the redhead commented innocently.

“No.” Short, simple and to the point.

“What is the beef between you two, anyway?” Thorn turned away from the movie.

He shrugged. “We got off on a rough start and never bothered to set it straight. I don’t take too kindly to -”

“Damnit Murtagh, he said he was sorry!” Thorn exclaimed. “He didn’t mean to almost call you a – you know! You have to let this go.”

“I forgave him, but he still thinks I’m an ass. I don’t blame him,” he popped another piece of popcorn. “And I don’t plan to set him straight.”

Thorn snorted. “And why not?”

“Oh, I know this one,” Murtagh drawled. “I think I left the answer in my other pants, though. Shall I go and get them?”

Thorn shook his head. “Whatever, then. Just don’t make a scene at my wedding, please?”

“I’ll try to keep myself in check, but you know how much of an attention whore I am.”

Thorn snorted loudly. “And try to not make a scene at the bachelor party either.”

“What am I allowed to do then?” he rolled his eyes.

“Have fun.”

“Don’t know what that is,” Murtagh replied dryly.

“By the end of your two years here, I promise you this,” Thorn paused and held up a finger, “you will have had fun,” two fingers, “you will want to stay,” three fingers, “you will have made more friends,” four fingers, “and you will have gotten a girl- or boyfriend.”

“Optimistic,” Murtagh took a small sip from the soda in his hand, “hopeful, naïve, childish. Never thought I’d use any of those words on you, except for ‘optimistic’, maybe.”

“Pah,” Thorn turned back to the movie. “Wasn’t there just a car-chase scene?”

“Two minutes ago,” Murtagh shrugged. “Just so you know; your time is running out if you want to accomplish all those things. I’ve already been here for eight months already.”

“Well, you already have more friends than you arrived with,” Thorn stated smugly.

“You don’t count.”

“I wasn’t talking about me. Saphira and Nasuada on the other hand...”

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow at him.

“Try to deny it,” Thorn waved him off. “Making you want to stay will be the hardest,” he said more to himself than to anyone else.

“Surely you’re kidding,” Murtagh snorted. “Getting a partner for an asexual person is not a walk in the park.”

“Didn’t Angela give you homework? I could have sworn you moaned about that earlier,” Thorn commented innocently.

“Want me to go ahead?” he countered darkly.

“Do you even know how?” Thorn smirked slightly.

“Want me to prove it to you?” Murtagh narrowed his eyes.

Thorn laughed. “No thanks. I’ll take your word for it.”

“And here I had been looking forward to give you a show,” Murtagh drawled dryly.

Thorn laughed again, louder this time. “This is what I’m talking about.”

Murtagh gave him a look that politely said ‘what drug are you on?’

“You’re getting back your sarcastic edge and you’re making jokes. You should tell Angela that.”

Murtagh flinched. For some reason, that only made him think of the shared session she wanted him to try again. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone? Also, he had a feeling that if he told him what Thorn had said Angela would feel more inclined to book him a shared session.

Oh no, he wasn’t telling her that anytime soon.

“Hey, I know that look,” Thorn tsk’ed. “Not everyone’s out to get you, you know.”

“I don’t think that,” he crossed his arms.

“No, but you over-think everything you’re going to say,” Thorn said gravely.

“If that was the case, Eragon and I would have been best buds by now. And seeing as we’re not...” he looked at him pointedly.

The redhead rolled his eyes. “But back to the case, alright?” he muted the movie. Murtagh frowned. “About this shared session thing, I think you should go ahead with Eragon. Who knows; it might solve some of your problems, your own and the ones between you two. No, don’t brush it away that easily!” Murtagh closed his mouth. “Just give it some thought, please? We’d like the two of you two get along.”

“We?” he asked.

“Saphira and I,” Thorn said. “He’s her best friend and you’re mine.”

“You’re not playing matchmaker, I hope.”

Thorn choked on his beer. Murtagh crocked an eyebrow. “No, why would I be doing that?” Thorn spluttered.

“...I was joking.”

Thorn took a smaller sip of the beer can. “Of course you were. You just don’t usually joke about these kinds of things.”

“...Before now, I wasn’t even aware that I could joke,” Murtagh rolled his eyes.

The other man sent him a disbelieving look. “Right. Let’s find something else to watch. This movie sucks.”

Murtagh leaned back and let him find something else. All previous topics were dropped.

\----

He had been in Carvahall for exactly 33 weeks when she came knocking on his door.

Murtagh hadn’t really noticed just how warm the summer could be, but when Saphira stumbled into his apartment in a thin summer dress and flip-flops, he realised he had been dressing for the summer without even realising that it had arrived. Well, he had had enough to deal with lately; checking the weather was the last thing on his mind.

“Thank God you’re home,” Saphira licked her lips. “I need to talk to you.”

Murtagh closed the door. What now? She looked nervous. He really hoped she wasn’t planning to call off the wedding. That was the last thing he needed to get shoved onto his shoulders.

Saphira put her bag down on the floor and sat down on his couch. Murtagh walked around the coffee table and sat down on it a metre or so away from her. She was wringing her hands.

“If you need to talk to me, _talking_ would be a good place to start.”

Saphira blushed. She nodded and looked down at her hands. She didn’t speak for a while.

Murtagh watched her silently.

“Do you know if...Thorn likes kids?”

Murtagh blinked. Well, that was random. ...Wait, it wasn’t. He crocked an eyebrow. Was she?

“You’re pregnant.” Even though it wasn’t a question, she nodded in answer.

“It’s you, it’ll be yours; that should be enough to make him kneel over in happiness,” Murtagh drawled. “Good thing he already proposed, hmm?”

The blush darkened slightly. “Oh, shut it.”

“Congratulations,” he said almost softly. Hmm, he didn’t know his voice could do that. Oh well. “But I don’t understand why you had to come to me. He obviously loves you; there’s no reason he wouldn’t want to have kids with you.”

“But what if it’s too soon?” she looked up. “I mean, we’re not that old. Thorn’s turning twenty-six in December, and -”

He blocked the rest out. Twenty-six? Did that mean that he...? Murtagh frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Murtagh shook his head. Saphira was looking at him worriedly.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “I didn’t realise...I had forgotten his birthday, I guess.”

“Oh,” she blinked. “Well, do you think it’s too soon?”

He thought for half a minute. “I don’t think you can really plan these things,” he shrugged. “Now is a good time as any.”

Saphira bit her lip. “I suppose. I just panicked when I found out this morning -”

“And the first thing you did was to go to me?” he blinked.

“Well, I talked to Eragon first, and -” she paused. “I decided I wanted your opinion.”

Murtagh nodded. “Well, now you have it. Go and tell him.”

She smiled brightly. She leaned over and hugged him. He watched her leave. When the door closed, he walked over and found his credit card. He flipped it over.

His birthday was in two days, and he had completely forgotten about it.

\----

He spent the rest of the day figuring out what to do. He could stay at the apartment, or he could spend the entire day wandering around in Carvahall. If he stayed, his - he supposed he could call them friends now - would visit him to congratulate him. For some reason, that wasn’t a very tempting scenario.

But it was possible they had forgotten about it. Unless Tornac had told Thorn. Tornac had sent him gifts even when he was in prison, so it was no doubt that he still remembered. Or Tornac could assume that Thorn already knew, and therefore neglect to mentioning it; sparing Murtagh from a thousand congratulations.

Unless they were planning a surprise party. Murtagh groaned out loud. He **hated** surprises.

It was tempting to call Tornac to hear if they were planning something. Of course, if they were, Tornac wouldn’t tell him, but Murtagh would be able to hear that he was hiding something in his voice. The element of surprise was always a good thing to have.

There was one other thing he could do; not care. He could wait for the impending doom, run around in the city hiding from it, or he could simply not care.

The second option was the most tempting one.

The phone rang then. Murtagh put it on speaker. “Yes?”

_“Saphira’s pregnant!”_

Ah, so she had told. Good. Murtagh crossed his arms and leaned back into the couch. “Congratulations.”

 _“She’s pregnant!”_ Thorn cried happily.

“I don’t have to ask if you’re happy or not.”

Thorn laughed.

“Now go back to your pregnant wife-to-be,” Murtagh’s finger hovered over the end-call button.

_“I will. See you later, Tag.”_

“Later,” Murtagh ended the call.

Hmmm, if he was lucky, the baby would take all the focus away from him. Maybe he could have a quiet birthday for once?

\----

And he did have one. Tornac had stopped by that morning to give him his gift and take him out to lunch. Murtagh had let him. Then Tornac had dropped him off at the apartment and told him to have a nice day.

Murtagh stared at Tornac’s gift with a slight hint of distrust. Sure, he had liked and treasured all of other gifts the man had given him, but that he was out of prison and was allegedly a member of the community? Murtagh did indeed fear what Tornac might have gotten him.

The clock struck four before he had the courage to open it. He scolded himself as he held Tornac’s gift up before his eyes. A book. Alright, so it was written by an author he had started to like in prison, but even so. It was harmless. Murtagh snorted and put it down. To think that he had been scared of a simple book.

He threw away the wrapping paper and walked back to the couch. He only then noticed Tornac’s greeting card. He popped open the envelope and pulled out the card. His age glared at him from the front in metallic blue, white, a lighter blue, grey and black. It was one of the better cards, Murtagh acknowledged. It wasn’t even overfilled with glitter. He opened it.

_Happy Birthday, Murtagh  
By now I’m sure you’re wondering why the day has been so quiet. That’s all your fault, son. You’re the one that’s supposed to tell them when your birthday is, not an old champ like me. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll get out and go to your friends. It might be a bit too late to tell them now, but it’s better late than never, son.  
Don’t make me come over there and make you do it.  
Best wishes,  
Tornac_

Murtagh closed the card. He stood and walked over to put it on his desk. It didn’t look right there, so he put it in the bookcase. Murtagh nodded and stepped back.

And now he just had to survive the rest of the day. He didn’t trust that Tornac could keep quiet forever.


	6. Thallium

But strangely enough, Tornac had kept it to himself. It had been a week, and no one had said anything.

Murtagh smirked wryly. He didn’t know what he was feeling about that. Was he relieved, disappointed, hurt, or maybe he was angry at himself? He really didn’t know.

He lay on the couch exactly a week after his birthday and was mulling over his feelings in his head. It was a progress he supposed. At least now he acknowledged that he _had_ feelings. He would have liked it more if he had known what he was feeling.

The phone rang. He put it on speaker. “Yes?”

_“Murtagh? This is Angela.”_

Oh great. Now what?

 _“I’m calling to check if you have given the thought of giving a shared session another go?”_ she asked professionally.

“The only one that’s left is the one that made me swear them off,” he told her bluntly.

Besides, meeting anyone that wasn’t a total stranger, and not Angela as he couldn’t get away from her, was not something he wanted to do right now.

_“Murtagh, please.”_

He checked the time. He was supposed to have a meeting with her in two hours. Was she calling because she wanted him to have a session today?

“If you want me to talk to him because he needs someone to talk to, I think you have the wrong person,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say.

Angela fell silent. Murtagh turned his head to look at the phone resting on the table before him.

 _“If you change your mind, come by in an hour,”_ she said finally. _“Otherwise I’ll be seeing you in two hours. Good day.”_

“To you too,” he said and hung up.

\----

An hour later, for reasons unknown, he found himself in Angela’s waiting room. He pointedly ignored the flirting receptionist and stared at Angela’s door. It finally opened. Shock flashed through her eyes when she saw him. He stood and gave her a sharp nod. Angela closed the door and waved him along. Murtagh followed her.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said and opened the door to the room Murtagh remembered from his last blotched up session. He was dreading it already.

Why had he come again?

“Don’t mention it,” he said simply. “I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe I’m a masochist? I can’t see anything coming but pain coming from this.”

She smiled slightly. To Murtagh, it almost looked smug. He wondered why.

“He’ll be here in a few minutes. You can sit down in the meantime.”

Murtagh did so. “Why is he doing this? Can’t he just talk to you?”

Angela laughed softly. “Oh no, not this time, I think. And don’t doubt for a second that this session is as much for you as it is for him.”

Murtagh winced. He didn’t like the thought of that.

Angela nodded and left the room. Murtagh fidgeted slightly.

Dear God, why was he here? Nothing good could come from this. And he was pretty sure it was too late to leave. Damn. Did he not think things through anymore?

Alright, he could do this. He was...doing it for Thorn. Yeah, that helped it somewhat. He was doing this for his best friend, the guy that wanted him to get along with the brat.

...First step to get along with him would probably be to stop calling him a brat, even if he had never said it out loud.

“In here,” Angela said softly.

Murtagh stiffened. Had she forgotten to close the door, or had he not heard it open? Whatever, it didn’t matter now. He took a deep breath and braced himself.

“Who is it this time?” a sullen voice asked. Murtagh quickly identified it as Eragon’s.

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow. Someone was obviously not happy.

“I think you’ll be surprised.” Wow, someone sure sounded smug. Murtagh sent her a mental glare.

“Huh?”

Was that his cue to get up? Well, tough, he liked it where he was. If Eragon had the urge to inflict harm upon his person, it was harder for him to do so when Murtagh was sitting down. It was also harder for Murtagh to get away then. Hmm.

Murtagh didn’t get a chance to do either as Eragon and Angela came into view. Eragon stiffened upon seeing him.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Angela smiled and walked over to her corner.

Alright, so he had made a mistake. Again. Wasn’t he supposed to grow and learn from his mistakes, not continue to make them?

Eragon stared at him for at least a minute before he slowly sat down. Murtagh curled his fingers around tip of the armrests and tilted his head slightly. The silence stretched on.

Eragon opened his mouth, but seemed to change his mind and closed it again. He opened it again a few seconds later. “So...why are you here?”

Murtagh wanted to laugh. If the brunet had settled with that, he wondered how bad Eragon’s first try had been.

“For the same reason you’re here, I presume,” Murtagh said simply.

Eragon’s mouth thinned. And just like that, the silence was back.

Two minutes later Murtagh figured it was his turn to break the silence. He had never done so before, and hoped he wouldn’t screw up terribly. Why he hoped that he didn’t really know. It wasn’t like he wanted Eragon to like him anyway.

Since when had his life become confusing? Whatever. That wasn’t important now.

“Do you hate me?”

Eragon blinked. “Eh?”

Murtagh crossed his arms. “Do you hate me?” he repeated slowly.

The brunet frowned. “No. Why?”

“You act like it.” Murtagh shrugged and looked away.

“What?!” Eragon spluttered. “I do not! You’re the one that acts like that, like you hate me!”

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah! You’re avoiding me, talking down at me, ignoring me -”

“Pot calling the kettle black?”

Eragon blinked again. “What? No.”

“You see, you can’t really avoid someone you don’t know,” Murtagh leaned further back in his seat. “In our situation, you’re the one that can ignore me, seeing as you know where I work. You can avoid seeing me if you don’t want to. I’m not really in the position to do the same.”

“What are you saying?!” Eragon said accusingly.

“I’m saying that you need to get over me,” Murtagh said more harshly than he had meant to.

Eragon’s mouth fell open.

“Get over it,” Murtagh continued. Obviously he needed to clear a few things up with the kid. “I know what you were going to call me, and its fine. I’ve forgotten about it. Do the same already.”

“Wha-”

“The only reason I’m being a bastard is because I am a bastard. We don’t have to be friends. We don’t even have to get along. I know that our friends want us to get along, but quite frankly, I don’t care. I just want you to get over whatever guilt you’re feeling and move on.”

“I don’t feel guilty,” Eragon blurted out. “But yeah, you are a bastard. But I shouldn’t have -”

“Don’t,” Murtagh interrupted him. “Just get over it. Now, I believe the clock is ticking. Pretend you don’t know me and talk already.”

It was eerily quiet from Angela’s corner. Murtagh looked over at her. She was staring unblinkingly at them. To be more precise, she was staring unblinkingly at him. He crocked an eyebrow and went back to Eragon.

“What makes you think I need to talk?” Eragon asked coolly.

“You wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Murtagh replied dryly.

“Same to you,” the other countered.

Murtagh nodded. “But I’m one very screwed up individual. I’ve been to prison and everything. You...you seem normal. That just makes me think that you’re even more broken than I am.” He rested his forearms against his thighs and leaned forward. “So?”

He wasn’t sure where his new insightfulness came from, but he supposed it was useful.

Eragon narrowed his eyes at him and looked away.

“Do you think I’m going to judge you?” Eragon’s eyes snapped back at him. Murtagh felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Didn’t think so. I’m here to listen, so give me something to listen to.”

“You don’t care, so why should I?” Eragon asked tightly.

“I’m not here to care. That’s her job,” he nodded in Angela’s direction.

Eragon snorted and looked away.

“Do you want me to start? Alright,” Murtagh tilted his head. “My birthday was a week ago, and I didn’t tell anyone.”

Two big brown eyes looked at him in shock. Murtagh crocked an eyebrow. Well, it wasn’t the icebreaker he was supposed to have gone for, but somehow it seemed better than his lack of sexuality.

“...Why?” the brunet breathed.

Murtagh shrugged. “Is it such a big deal? So I’m a year older. Whoopee,” he said unenthusiastically. “With everything that’s going on, I think my friends should concentrate on what’s important.”

“And you, their friend, aren’t important?” Eragon leaned forward a bit. “Thorn would smack you if he heard you say that.”

“Yes, yes he would,” Murtagh smirked slightly.

“Why didn’t you want to tell them?” Eragon asked.

“I do believe I already answered that.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I asked why you didn’t do it. Now I’m asking why you didn’t want to.”

“Because he would have made a big deal out of it,” Murtagh shrugged.

“And you wouldn’t have liked that,” Eragon shook his head again. “Isn’t it better to have them know it’s your birthday than to spend it alone?”

“I didn’t spend it alone. An old friend stopped by. We had lunch.” Murtagh allowed himself to bask in that memory for a second before continued. “I’m expecting to hear from him soon about my failure to inform my friends of turning twenty-five.”

“You’re twenty-five?” Eragon tilted his head.

“Hm.” Why had he said that? He really needed to stop giving out information so freely.

“You still should have told them. Did you think of how they would feel when they found out they forgot it?” Eragon asked.

“They didn’t forget it,” Murtagh snorted.

“They did. At least, Thorn did. He’s spent a few birthdays with you back in the day, right? He’s going to feel awful.”

Murtagh scowled. Wow, he really hadn’t thought it through. Again. Well, fuck.

“Whatever. They’re never going to find out.”

“I have to tell them,” Eragon said then. “I can’t keep this to myself.”

“You’re going to have to,” Murtagh leaned in further and looked him dead in the eyes. “I don’t want them to know. Do you read me?”

“You’re wrong about this. They have a right to know,” Eragon said softly.

“I want Thorn to have baby-fever and Saphira to blush and giggle over her upcoming wedding. I don’t want to be treated special at work just because I turned a year older. I don’t want any attention whatsoever,” he stressed.

“Oh,” Eragon bit his lip. “I see.”

Murtagh leaned back. “What?”

“You were beaten when you were younger,” the other said quietly. “That’s why you shy away from attention. You had to back then, or someone would tell your teacher and your teacher would tell your parents. And if it was your parents, you would just be beaten more for not covering it up better.”

Murtagh stared at him in shock. He was silent for a whole minute before he found himself able to answer. “That’s none of your business.”

“But it’s true. I hope at least Thorn knows -”

“He does,” Murtagh interrupted. “Now he does. I’ve come out about a lot of things since my time inside.”

Eragon blinked again. Fuck, why had he said that?! He needed to put a sock in his mouth already!

“Oh. Ok.”

...That was it? Apparently it was, for Eragon didn’t say anything else.

The silence continued to stretch on. Was Eragon ashamed of what he had come to talk about or did he not want to talk to Murtagh about it? “What about you?” Murtagh tilted his head. Either way, he was going to find out. Because hell if he was going to just sit there in silence for the remainder of the session if he could just as well go home.

“...What about me?” Eragon squirmed slightly.

“Do you have anything you want to talk about?”

“...No.” There had been hesitation in his voice; Murtagh had heard it. Obviously it was something Eragon preferred not to talk to him about, then.

“Alright. I’ll take my leave, then,” Murtagh stood. He nodded to Eragon and then to Angela before walking out. He didn’t look back.

\----

Angela had called him back the next week for a follow-up session after the shared one. It had been brief, and Murtagh had been surprised when she hadn’t brought up the fact that he _still_ hadn’t told Thorn his birthday had passed.

But oh well. He wasn’t about to complain.

What he did want to complain about had been Angela’s next subject. The one he had failed to mention in the last session.

His apparent lack of sexuality.

Angela had even gone as far as to give him homework to masturbate. Murtagh had asked her when she had become a sexologist. She had blushed a little at that comment. Murtagh was a little proud she was getting through to him. However she had been firm about his ‘homework’.

It was now six days later, thirteen since he had last seen Eragon, and he had one more day to give masturbation a go before going back to Angela. There couldn’t be a way she could tell he hadn’t done it, but...something about the look on her face had made Murtagh doubt. What if she could?

So there he was, sitting on his couch and feeling quite pathetic. He had told Thorn the truth before; he knew how to do it. He just wasn’t comfortable with doing it. He didn’t see the point in doing it. He managed just fine without sexual release.

Murtagh rubbed his hands over his face. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been hard. This was a complete waste of time.

No, he was going to do this. If he didn’t, then Angela would never drop the damn topic. He was sick and tired of talking about his lack of sexual life and sexuality. So, he supposed he would have to give it a go.

Murtagh winced. He would have to move, then. He had already locked the door, and he didn’t have to work later, so...really, he had nothing else to do. But he was still not doing it in the living room.

Murtagh sat up and padded into the bedroom. He closed the door and eyed his bed with distaste. He would have done it in the shower, as he had heard it worked for some in there, but he’d rather not stand up for the fifteen minutes he had decided to give the impossible task. God, fifteen minutes had never seemed so long before.

He shed his sweatpants and lay down in wearing a t-shirt and his boxers. Murtagh cracked his fingers and started to fiddle with the band of the boxers. He supposed he could take those off too, but he didn’t want to look around for them after the failure he was about to experience.

He shook his head. He was never going to get it done if he continued to stay so negative. It was too bad that he had always been a bit of a pessimist, then. Murtagh smirked sadly and let out a soft sigh. He reached out and grabbed the small tube of lubrication Angela had given him. There truly was something wrong with that sentence. He snorted. His shrink was telling him to wank off and had given him means to make it ‘more pleasurable’, if he was to believe what the small tube told him.

Murtagh scowled at it. He laid it down beside him and pulled his boxers down a bit. Yup, still limp. If he remembered correctly, the last time he knew he had had an erection was roughly eight years ago. Lovely. He let out a frustrated sigh and cupped himself.

Murtagh flushed slightly. He felt ridiculous. But so be it. He was seeing this through, damnit! He slowly began to move his hand up and down his cock.

Well, that didn’t feel good at all. Then again, he was completely limp. He knew that thinking about something erotic was supposed to help, but fuck if he knew what was erotic. Murtagh snorted and grabbed the damn tube lying beside him. He would just have to give that a go instead. He’d rather not try to fantasise. He’d probably just scare himself senseless if he did.

He coated his hands in the slightly chilled gel and rubbed them together. Then he closed his eyes and cupped himself again. He had to admit that it felt better when he moved his hands this time. Murtagh pushed the boxers further down his legs with one hand and tried to build up a rhythm. He tried to remember what he had done when he had been younger, but the memories escaped him. Oh well. They would probably just have killed whatever erection he might be able to wake, anyway.

He spread his legs slightly and continued to pump his cock. One of his hands started to fondle his balls. A soft sigh left him. He could slowly, oh so slowly feel himself hardening.

Murtagh tilted his head slightly and made sure that his eyes were still closed. For some reason, he didn’t want them to be open. He didn’t want to see what he was doing. He gritted his teeth and tightened the hold on his cock. A soft gasp left him when he felt a soft spark of pleasure. His hand was still moving at the slow rhythm he had established earlier, but now he felt confident enough to speed it up a bit.

A barely audible groan left him. It actually felt good. Damn. He sped up his hand a little more. Alright, so maybe he could see why people did this often. But only maybe, though. It wasn’t **that** good.

...Maybe he should give fantasising a go?

Fuck no. He’d rather get a road rash on his hand than to let his mind run free. One, who knows who might pop up and two...he didn’t know what would pop up.

Murtagh opened his eyes and glared at the ceiling. If his mind would shut up this century, maybe he could finish? He grumbled curse words under his breath and closed his eyes again. He was going to see this through. He was.

What seemed like ages later, though it probably was only two minutes, Murtagh was still only semi-hard and nowhere near his climax. He let out a frustrated groan and stood up. He was not desperate enough to go looking for porn, and his wrist was tired, damnit.

He sat up, pulled his boxers back in place and lay down to sleep. He didn’t care that it was five in the afternoon, he was going to sleep. Murtagh scowled, burrowed himself deeper into his covers and tried to sleep.

\----

“Alright, I did it, now quit bugging me.”

Angela looked up at him in surprise. “You did it?”

She actually seemed surprised. Murtagh scowled. “I did it,” he repeated sourly. Did she not think he knew what homework was?

“And judging by your expression it didn’t go too well?” she tilted her head.

“No. Now leave it alone,” he looked out at the window behind her.

“I can give you the number of a -”

“No,” he interrupted her. “No more shrinks. I can live without having sex again.”

“Ever?” Angela crocked an eyebrow.

“Yes.” But by the look on her face, she didn’t believe him. “I have survived this long, haven’t I?”

“You have, yes, but everyone reaches a point when they can’t wait anymore,” she looked at him pointedly. “Think about it. If you change your mind, I have someone you can call.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

Angela just smiled. “Oh, and while I have you here, I would like you to think about having another shared session with Mr. Rider again.”

Murtagh stared at her. The hell? She was actually serious.

“No thank you,” he said dryly.

“Why not?” she said and folded her hands. “You get each other to open up.”

“So far, the only one that has been talking is me.”

“That’s because you leave before the fun begins,” she said and had the gall to look smug. “Just please consider it.”

Murtagh just glared at her.

\----

“You. Are. Dead.”

It was too early in the morning to be dealing with this. Murtagh considered slamming the door in his face, but he’d rather not have to pay for a new door. Instead, he just turned around and walked back to his bedroom.

Silence followed him. Murtagh crawled back under his covers and fully intended to go back to sleep, but apparently his _visitor_ would have none of that.

“Would you look at me when I talk to you?!”

What, had he been talking? Murtagh hadn’t heard a word. Maybe he had dozed off?

Murtagh sighed tiredly and turned over to lie on his back. He glared at Thorn.

“I asked you what you were thinking,” Thorn growled.

“When?” Murtagh said while trying to stifle a yawn. He failed miserably.

“When you didn’t tell me about your birthday,” Thorn glared at him icily.

“How’d you find out?” he ruffled a hand through his hair. Urgh, greasy. He needed to shower soon. But sleeping came first. Sleeping and chasing annoying giants out of his apartment.

“Saphira asked me what I wanted for my birthday,” the redhead said and leaned against the doorway. “I told her I just wanted to have my friends over and have a nice time. That got me thinking about you. And then something hit me. Your birthday was _three weeks ago_!!”

“...And?”

“And you didn’t tell me! How could you?!”

“Simple; I just didn’t tell you,” he yawned again. He put his forearm over his eyes. Ah, yes, blessed darkness.

Suddenly his blankets were ripped off him and he had been pushed off the bed. Falling to the floor before waking up properly hurt like a bitch. Murtagh growled and sat up. Alright, he was awake, and Thorn was going to die.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Thorn said and flung the blankets back onto the bed. “You’re getting up, and then you’re coming with me.”

“Where?” Murtagh narrowed his eyes.

“Buying groceries.” What? “For your birthday party tomorrow.” WHAT?!

“Your bachelor party is in five days,” he said dryly.

“So? You’re having a birthday party, and you’re going to have it tomorrow. No objections are allowed,” Thorn said smugly.

“I don’t know enough people to fit in a damn car, let alone to make it qualify as a party,” Murtagh spat the last word out like it was poison.

“I’ll take care of that,” Thorn said and threw a pair of jeans at him. “Now, get dressed already.”

“You’re not taking care of anything,” he growled. “I don’t want a party.”

“You should have thought of that before you ‘forgot’ to tell me about your birthday,” the redhead smirked.

“Oh, fuck you!”

Thorn just grinned.

\----

Murtagh was not pleased. Never mind that it was a party thrown in his honour, why did he have to be there? He’d rather be in bed, thrashing his way through another nightmare than to be here.

It was like he had told Thorn long ago, which it seemed like he had forgotten. Murtagh hated crowds. And even if there weren’t that many people present, it was still a crowd, which meant that Murtagh wanted to be practically anywhere but there, _damnit_!

If only he had been allowed near the liquor. Murtagh was almost sure he would have survived the hell he was in if he had been allowed a few drops of alcohol. But as long as Thorn was there, there was no way he was getting anywhere close to the alcohol table. For yes, as if it wasn’t enough that he, the so-called ‘birthday boy’ couldn’t drink, Thorn had proceeded to buy so much liquor that it took up an entire table. After the wedding, Murtagh was killing him. Slowly and painfully.

For some reason, thinking that stirred something unpleasant inside of him. Murtagh winced. Alright, he wasn’t nearly ‘healthy’ enough to joke about killing someone yet.

Murtagh took another sip of his orange soda and looked around the room again. There weren’t that many people present, but enough. There was Thorn, Tornac and Saphira, of course. Nasuada and Arya were somewhere, though it completely escaped Murtagh why his boss was there. He was pretty sure he had seen Angela earlier too, which was too fucking weird. Murtagh was also sure he had seen his least-favourite neighbour. How Thorn had managed to get him to come was beyond Murtagh’s understanding. Orrin was there as well, and Murtagh had seen that over-enthusiastic blond, Aksel or whatever, earlier. And, of course, Eragon.

That was another reason Murtagh was very displeased with Thorn. Why the fuck had he invited Eragon?! They did not get along, not even a little. Never mind that Angela was determined to make them therapy-buddies, _they did not get along_.

And of course, there was the final reason Murtagh was severely displeased with Thorn; the party was at Thorn’s apartment. Murtagh couldn’t escape from there. _Bastard_.

“You look like you’re having fun.” Murtagh looked up. Nasuada sent him a soft smile as she sat down beside him.

“Why on earth would you think that?” Murtagh grunted into his glass.

Nasuada let out a soft chuckle.

For some reason, having her beside him made him uncomfortable. It was like there was a wall between them that they were both trying to ignore.

“Happy Birthday, by the way,” she said and smiled at him again. “I get why you tried to hide it. I’m sure Orrin would have tried to make a big deal out of it at work, had he known.”

Murtagh winced. Well, at least someone understood his reasons. He gave her soft nod.

“You know, even if you do hate parties, you should at least try to enjoy it. Thorn put a lot of thought into this.”

“I know,” he said and straightened the collar of his shirt. Fucking Thorn had made him wear one. Apparently he had to look good at his birthday party.

“So, try,” she patted his shoulder and left.

Murtagh sighed. That was easier said than done.

He let out a load groan when yet another song came on. It was even more annoying than the song that had been before it. If he ever found out who had put the playlist together, he’d show them how much he appreciated their music taste. To say it sucked was an understatement. Murtagh was not a pop lover. At all.

As the evening wore on, Murtagh only became more irritated. Earlier, the music had been turned off and everyone had sung the birthday song. Murtagh thought he had been too old for that shit. Apparently not. And then they had just stared at him, like they expected him to say something. He had forced out a neutral ‘thank you’ and had been kind enough to wait for the music and commotion to start up again before slipping out.

Unfortunately he hadn’t been able to go further than Thorn’s terrace. It was small, unoccupied and the air rushed down his lungs, nearly tearing a moan from his lips. Finally he could be alone.

“Not trying to run away, I hope.”

Well, he had been alone. For a minute or so. Murtagh sighed and leaned onto the railing. If the guy wanted to talk to him, then he would have to accept that he would be doing all the talking. Murtagh was not in the mood.

“Murtagh.”

Murtagh shrugged. He didn’t want to answer, couldn’t the other see that?

He felt someone come to stand beside him. He looked at the other from the corner of his eye.

“You brought this upon yourself, you know,” the man’s eyes twinkled merrily.

Murtagh snorted. While he did know that, he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Thorn really cares about you. It kills him that he was unable to be there for you when you needed him the most,” Tornac said sombrely.

How could he not respond to that? Murtagh gave Tornac a slight glare. Damn that man for knowing how to bring him down. “It’s not his fault.”

“And he knows that, but it still kills him.”

Murtagh sighed.

“Could you try to look like you’re having fun? For him?”

Murtagh turned his back on the balcony and looked back at the alleged party going on inside. He gave Tornac another look. “I won’t run. That will have to be enough.”

He then walked back inside.

\----

Murtagh thought he had seen Thorn happy before, but he was sure that it wouldn’t compare to what he would look like on his wedding day. However, when he stepped out of the taxi and walked over to the redhead that was waiting outside the bar, he honestly had to say he hadn’t seen Thorn so happy in a long time.

“You actually showed.”

Oh God, the man actually sounded choked up.

“Of course I did.” Murtagh stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It’s your bachelor party. And I’d like it to be over as quickly as possible, so could we go inside already?”

Thorn gave him a foolishly happy grin and led him inside the bar.

At first Murtagh had seriously considered not coming. But as soon as that thought had entered his mind, Murtagh had forced himself to grab his jacket and had grabbed the first taxi he could find. Now there was no way back. He owed Thorn this.

He shook himself back to the present and looked around. At first, Murtagh had expected it to be a typical bachelor party, meaning that it would be held in a stripper joint. But apparently Thorn was something else. This was just a normal bar, filled to the brim with men. Murtagh recognised half of the people there, if that.

Thorn showed him where he would be sitting, because apparently there was some sort of seating arrangement in the madness. There were small round tables almost everywhere, none which had room for more than five people. Murtagh was lucky enough to be stuck on a table with Thorn, Tornac, Aksel or whatever his name was and, of course, Eragon. At least he was seated in-between Thorn and Tornac; otherwise things were doomed to take on an awkward tone.

Thorn, being the man of the hour, was quickly whisked away, leaving Murtagh on his own.

Murtagh stayed away from the appointed table. He’d rather not see Eragon or Aksel anytime soon. He found a dark corner and got comfortable.

Time passed slowly. There wasn’t a lot of food circled around, so why there were tables was beyond Murtagh’s understanding. The seating arrangement escaped him also. No one seemed to really pay any attention to it.

He spent most of the time in his corner, sipping another virgin drink. Apparently Thorn had talked to the bartender and told him Murtagh wasn’t allowed near alcohol. He was sorely tempted to give Thorn a piece of his mind. Just because he had one bad experience with alcohol didn’t mean that he was going to try to kill himself if he tasted alcohol again.

Murtagh wasn’t sure how long he had been there, but at one point someone got up and called for silence. Murtagh did not know his name, and neither did he care.

“Now, I may not have known the groom very long, but I feel that I know him well,” the guy winked at Thorn. Thorn rolled his eyes. “But I have to say that it was about time he tied the knot. Thorn has been hopelessly in love with Saphira, how many years was it, red?” the guy crocked an eyebrow. “Three?”

“Get to the goddamn point!” Thorn called out, though he was blushing slightly.

Murtagh felt himself smirk.

The guy laughed. He brushed some hair out of his eyes and righted his spectacles before continuing. “Well, after a year, he finally asked her out. And when I say finally, I mean finally. I never took you for the stuttering type, Thorn.”

Thorn’s blush deepened slightly. “Fuck you, Glaedr.”

Apparently his name was Glaedr. Not that Murtagh cared.

Glaedr smirked and went on. “And then, after a few years of stumbling around in the relationship, he finally had the courage to pop the question. And now here we are, celebrating his final night of bachelorhood. We will miss you, Thorn. Requiescat in pace,” he raised his glass.

The guys around the room laughed and raised their glasses, saying the same phrase.

Thorn just rolled his eyes and drank.

Murtagh checked the time. They had to be at least halfway through the party by now. The numbers on his phone told him that it was a little after 10 p.m. Only three hours had passed since the party started. Shit. That meant that it would go on for a good few hours still. He wondered if it would be rude if he left early.

After giving it some thought, he figured he could give the party another hour. Four hours was respectable, right? Murtagh sighed and tried to find someone he knew. As much as he liked his antisocial corner, it was getting a little lonely. Not that he’d ever admit that.

“Murtagh!” someone called out.

Murtagh looked around and saw Tornac. He was standing with a man that looked to be a few years older. His brown hair was turning grey around the temples and he had a few wrinkles from smiling, but otherwise he looked healthy and young enough.

“This is an old friend of mine,” Tornac said when Murtagh came closer. “Brom Teller. Brom, this is my, well, I suppose I can call him my protégé.”

Brom chuckled. “Ah yes, young Murtagh. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Tornac has spoken highly of you.”

Murtagh was rendered speechless for a few seconds. “I’m sure only half of it was true,” he suddenly found himself saying.

Brom laughed. Even Tornac looked a little amused.

“So, what is it you do? Tornac might have mentioned it, but I believe it was lost in the countless praises of you.”

“I’m a bartender,” Murtagh answered, ignoring the last half of the sentence.

“At Arya’s bar,” Tornac added.

Brom hummed. “I do hope they’re treating you well.”

“Well enough,” he shrugged.

Brom chuckled.

Murtagh took another sip from the glass in his hand. He looked around and saw Thorn laughing at something someone had said. It was the guy who had held the toast – Glaedr or whatever his name had been. There was another guy with them that Murtagh didn’t recognise. While the blond and Thorn were about the same height, this guy was actually a head or so taller than them. Murtagh made a mental note never to piss him off, as he looked quite intimidating.

Of course, no one beat Morzan and his pals, but they had been psychopaths. They didn’t count in normal situations.

Murtagh felt that someone was looking at him a little too closely and looked around to see who they were. To his surprise, it was Brom.

“Have we met before?”

The words made the blood freeze in Murtagh’s veins. He desperately tried to place Brom, but couldn’t. And if Tornac was friends with him, then Brom couldn’t possibly have been in Morzan’s posse.

But the look on Tornac’s face made Murtagh uneasy.

“No, I don’t think so,” he answered as calmly as he could.

Brom hummed and looked him up and down one more time.

“It seems like Thorn wants to talk to you,” Tornac said then.

Murtagh could have kissed him. He looked back at Thorn, and he was indeed trying to get his attention. He looked back at the two older men. “It was nice meeting you,” he said to Brom.

The man just nodded. He still looked thoughtful. Murtagh really didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

Murtagh promised to see Tornac before the wedding ceremony, then walked off. Dread was building up inside of him.

There was only one possibility. Brom had met his father. As much as it pained Murtagh to admit it, he had always looked a lot like Morzan. If Brom made the connection –

“Enjoying yourself?”

Thankfully, Thorn’s voice cut off the train of thought.

“Yes,” he said. He wasn’t completely lying. It had been pleasant enough, though a little boring, but it was no worse than being at work. It was only now that he had become uncomfortable.

Unfortunately it seemed like Thorn was getting better and better at reading him. “What’s wrong?” the redhead asked.

“I think I should take my leave,” Murtagh said and put the glass down at a nearby table.

Thorn frowned. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Before Murtagh could protest, they were already halfway there and it was pointless to speak up.

Thorn didn’t speak again until they were outside of the club. “Now tell me the truth.”

Murtagh would rather not. Instead he walked towards the bus stop. Thorn of course followed.

The other remained silent as Murtagh checked the times. There was a bus arriving in ten minutes. It would take him right to his apartment. It was cheaper than a taxi and spared him the trouble of calling for one.

“Well?”

Murtagh sighed. “Do you know someone called Brom?”

Thorn leaned against the bus shed. “Brom Teller? Of course I do. He’s Eragon’s father.”

Murtagh blinked. Eragon’s father? He never would have guessed, even though now that he thought about it, there were certain facial similarities. But he never made the connection because of their different last names.

“Eragon has his mother’s last name,” Thorn said, confirming Murtagh’s suspicions, “but everyone knows they’re related.”

He just nodded. There wasn’t anything he could say to that, really.

“Why do you ask?”

Murtagh wet his lips. “I think he might have known my father.”

Thorn fell silent. “Well, even if he did,” he said a few moments later, “Brom is very open-minded. I doubt he’ll think you’re your father’s son in all forms of the word.”

Murtagh snorted. He wasn’t so sure about that.

“We’ll just have to keep you two apart after the ceremony.”

He looked up sharply. After?

Thorn had a weird look on his face that Murtagh couldn’t quite place. “Brom is the one giving Saphira away.”

And suddenly it all made sense.

“Saphira was sort of adopted by Eragon’s parents when hers died.”

“So when you were talking about me meeting the guy that was giving her away -”

“I was talking about Brom, yeah,” Thorn finished.

Murtagh wanted to curse.

“But it’ll be fine. In my opinion, you look nothing like your old man.”

Murtagh looked off; not really seeing what was in front of him. It didn’t matter what Thorn thought, because he was wrong. Even if they weren’t that alike, to Murtagh the similarities appeared more and more striking for each day that passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: "Requiescat in pace" means Rest In Peace.


	7. Belladonna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also known as the wedding chapter. Beware that I haven't actually been to a real wedding. I base this on what I've seen from my cousin's wedding video and random movies with weddings in them.

It was a new nightmare that night. Murtagh could only remember the walls closing in around him. The rest was a foggy haze. But at least there was no violent urge to puke his guts out this time. For that Murtagh was almost thankful.

He got up and showered. Thorn was going to come and pick him up in an hour. They were changing at the hotel where the reception was due to take place, then they were driving to the church. Murtagh was glad for that. The less time he had to spend in his tux, the better.

By the time Thorn arrived, Murtagh had managed to eat breakfast and watch a rerun of Mythbusters. Why that show was on at 7 in the morning was beyond him, but it was something to watch at least.

The ride to the hotel was silent. Thorn was apparently either very tired or very nervous, so Murtagh let him stay in his own thoughts.

When they got there, Thorn showed him to the staging area for the men. There were already a couple of people there. Murtagh recognised the two men he had seen talking to Thorn at the bachelor party. Murtagh was surprised to see that Eragon wasn’t there.

“Ah, there you are, Thorn. We almost thought you had gotten lost,” the blond man said teasingly.

“I can find my way to Murtagh’s place in my sleep,” Thorn answered. Murtagh found that he only sounded tired, not nervous.

“Ah yes, you must be Murtagh,” the blond looked at Murtagh. He held out his hand. “I’m Glaedr.”

Murtagh shook it.

Glaedr grinned. “So you are the guy that snubbed me of being the best man.”

Murtagh blinked. Was that a joke?

Judging by the laugh that Thorn came with, it was. “I asked him to be my best man long before I told you two I had proposed.”

Glaedr crocked an eyebrow. “I’m hurt.”

“And you’re a liar,” Murtagh found himself saying. “You asked me well after you proposed to Saphira.”

Thorn grinned sheepishly. “Not my fault I had to really think about it. And when I came to a conclusion, you kept -”

“Yeah, yeah,” Murtagh interrupted. The others didn’t need to know what a disturbed person he actually was.

Glaedr nudged the guy beside him. “Don’t be rude. Introduce yourself.”

The guy grunted.

Glaedr rolled his eyes. “This is Shruikan, the other groomsman and soon to be my ex if he doesn’t sharpen up.”

“You’d never leave. No one else would have you,” Shruikan drawled.

Murtagh wondered if he could slip away unnoticed. He’d rather not get caught in the middle of a domestic fight. Then Glaedr spoke.

“Says you.”

Murtagh blinked. Glaedr’s voice had been filled with affection and amusement. And judging by the look on Thorn’s face, this was only normal.

“The next time you tell me that I’m horribly besotted with Saphira, I’m going to remind you of this moment,” Thorn said with a slight smirk.

Glaedr only chuckled.

Murtagh suddenly felt very out of place. All these people had a history together. Who was he? Just some kid that Thorn had known a long time ago, and he wasn’t even the same person anymore.

“Alright,” Glaedr clapped his hands, snapping Murtagh out of his thoughts. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Thorn led Murtagh over to where their tuxedos were hanging. Murtagh was a little surprised when no one wandered off to change. Some were already wearing their tuxedo pants, but most of them stripped down right then and there and started to change.

Murtagh took his down and looked at it. He could remember picking it out. He could also remember the damned tailor from hell. Murtagh glanced around at the other men, then at himself. Suddenly he felt self-conscious.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered in Thorn’s general direction, then wandered off towards the bathroom. Thankfully Thorn had pointed out its location on the way there, though Murtagh was sure he would have been able to find it even if Thorn hadn’t.

He entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He then started to change. As he took off his shirt, he looked in the mirror.

Murtagh had never been self-conscious before. You couldn’t be in prison. But as he looked at his back, he couldn’t help but to feel something. It wasn’t often that his father had broken the skin or scarred him during the beatings, but there had been times when Morzan had been too drunk to care.

He had faint scars from when Morzan had attacked him the night Murtagh had fought back. He had a couple on both of his forearms, one near his heart and one by his right hipbone. But it was his back that was the worst. Murtagh turned around to get a better look at it over his shoulder.

He had a thick, ugly scar across his lower back. Morzan had been pissed the day Murtagh had gotten it. He could remember the day well, but Murtagh refused to visit the memory. He was not going to get sick on the day of Thorn’s wedding.

Nonetheless, a hand reached around and touched the scar. It was rough and dug deep into the skin. He let his finger slide down from the skin above the scar to the skin under it. There was definite dip inwards where the scar tissue resided.

Murtagh sighed. Now was not the time to revisit old memories or practice self-loathing. He grabbed the shirt and put it on.

The tailor had thankfully gone with his suggestion and had chosen a white shirt. He could see that the vest was a midrange violet, but it was acceptable. The tie was a dark violet colour. In the shadows it looked black. But as soon as the wedding was over, he could take those off and be left with a white shirt and black jacket and pants.

Murtagh put on the pants and the belt before walking back. He didn’t need to change completely alone. Just as long as no one saw him shirtless.

Thorn was tying his tie when Murtagh entered the room. Murtagh paused for a moment to just look at his friend. Thorn was wearing a black suit with a pale violet vest. The tie was black, however. He was once again struck by the thought that his friend was actually quite handsome.

He shook himself and walked over.

Thorn looked at him in the mirror. “Need any help with yours?” he said, straightening his tie to empathize what he was talking about.

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t the groomsmen supposed to be helping the groom, not the other way around?”

Thorn smirked. “Not when the best man can’t even tie a tie on his own.”

Murtagh rolled his eyes. “Give it your best shot, then.”

Thorn chuckled. He walked over and grabbed the strip. He put it around Murtagh’s neck and began to work on it. “Saphira and mom made me learn how to do this. Mom will probably check up on me later and fix it, even though I’m sure I did it right. You know how she is.”

Murtagh could vaguely remember Thorn’s mother. He could only remember fiery red hair and a kiss on his forehead when he had hurt himself while playing with Thorn. He remembered feeling envious of Thorn for having two parents that loved him, but he also remembered stopping because they grew to care about him too.

“There,” Thorn stepped back. “That’s the best I can do.”

Murtagh looked at it in the mirror. It looked fine to him. Then again, he wasn’t an expert. “Thanks.”

Thorn clasped his shoulder. “If I can’t help out my socially awkward friend with a simple tie, then what good can I do, eh?” he chuckled.

The other rolled his eyes. He picked grabbed his vest and started to put it on. Beside him, Thorn grabbed his jacket and put it on.

Murtagh finished with is vest, then changed his shoes. He looked around at the other men in the room. He saw Shruikan and Glaedr talking to Brom. Murtagh wasn’t sure what he was doing in their room, but he didn’t think much of it.

“Hey, why did you walk off earlier?” Thorn asked and turned to look at him again.

Murtagh finished tying his shoes and straightened. “No reason.”

“There was a reason,” Thorn frowned. “We’re all men here. Why -”

“You know why,” Murtagh interrupted and put on his jacket. If he was correct, they were due to leave for the church soon. At least, he hoped so. He didn’t want to hang around at the hotel forever.

The redhead fell silent. Murtagh didn’t really want to know what was going on in his mind.

“I never realised he left scars on you,” Thorn murmured.

Murtagh felt himself give a bitter smile. “Well, he did. So then you understand why I didn’t feel like dropping my pants in front of God and everyone. Can we drop it now?”

“Of course.”

“I mean, fuck, this is your wedding day. Can you stop worrying about me for one damn second and grin like the fool you are?”

Thorn blinked. Murtagh wondered for a second if he had gone too far. But then Thorn chuckled and slapped his arm surprisingly gently. Murtagh knew what kind of strength he could have packed into that blow, and he was very relieved that none of it had been present.

“Yeah, I think I will,” he said and proceeded to grin foolishly. “But you know it’s your fault. If you didn’t get yourself into so much trouble, then I wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Ah, Thorn, there you are!”

Murtagh felt himself freeze.

Thorn took notice, but he didn’t have the time to react before he was pulled into a hug. It was short and finished with a slap to the back that actually sent Thorn forward a bit. Thorn was obviously still shocked.

“You look good, son,” Brom said fondly. “I was half-afraid that I would be giving my daughter to a penguin lookalike.”

The redhead looked very uncertain to respond to that. “Thank you?”

Murtagh felt the urge to laugh, but he’d rather not be in the centre of attention anytime soon, so he didn’t.

Brom chuckled. Murtagh forced himself to relax when Brom turned to him.

He sudden wished he had questioned Tornac about Brom when he had had the chance. He could only hope that whatever in him that looked like Morzan was overshadowed by the violent colours on him, which he knew Morzan would never have even gotten close to, let alone wear.

“You too,” Brom surprised him by saying.

“Thank you, sir,” Murtagh found himself saying, and for once it didn’t sound practiced and dull. It had been one of the phrases he had used back with Morzan most frequently. The other two he could remember at the moment was ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’. If he didn’t express thanks for the food he got, Murtagh often didn’t get fed again that day.

“I still think I have met you before,” the older man continued.

“I think I would have remembered you if you had, sir,” Murtagh answered. He was lying. There were many faces of his past that he couldn’t and wouldn’t remember. But if Brom was a friend of Tornac’s and Murtagh had met him, then he should have remembered him.

Thorn looked very disturbed all of a sudden. Murtagh could easily guess what he was thinking. He sent Thorn a quick headshake, which he really hoped had escaped Brom’s attention.

Sadly, it hadn’t.

“Is something wrong, son?” he asked Thorn.

“Ah, no sir,” Thorn answered a little sheepishly.

Brom crocked an eyebrow. Clearly he wasn’t buying it. “And please Thorn, call me by my name.”

Thorn grinned sheepishly. “I’ll try.”

Brom let out a laugh and patted Thorn’s shoulder. “You do that, son,” he said and finally walked off.

“Thorn, don’t,” Murtagh said as soon as Brom was at the other side of the room. “You’ll just say too much, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

The redhead bit his lip. “But you’re sure? I mean, I can’t believe even in my wildest dreams that he would -”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Murtagh interrupted. “He wasn’t one of them. I remember their faces all too clearly. He doesn’t even remotely look like any of them.”

“But I now see why you think he might have met your father at one point.”

Murtagh sent him a sour look.

“Sorry,” Thorn sighed. “Hopefully he won’t make the connection. If it’s a bad memory that he has with your old man, then that really is the last thing we need today.”

Murtagh knew that all too well. For once, he found himself hoping that the genes of the woman he never gotten to know was stronger in him than the man he wished he had never met.

\----

If Thorn was nervous, then Murtagh couldn’t tell. They were in one of the rooms that Murtagh supposed were used for last-minute preparations during weddings. Right outside of the door was the entry way to the church. On the other side of the entry way was another door leading to the room Saphira and her party were currently in.

Murtagh watched Thorn closely. There was a big smile on his face as he talked to his other groomsmen. His shoulders were relaxed and his eyes were sparkling. He really seemed fine.

There was a soft knock on the door and a slightly older woman walked inside. She was a few inches shorter than Murtagh and very curvy. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a bun, though a few slightly wavy locks had fallen out and framed her rounded face nicely. “Oh, Thorn,” she breathed and walked over to her son.

Murtagh watched Thorn embrace his mother. It was really funny to see them together now. Thorn stood at a good 6 feet tall and then some and his mother Jocelyn was notably shorter than him. Thorn had gotten his height from his deceased father.

“You look so handsome, son,” Jocelyn said and patted her son’s cheek lovingly. She had to reach up to do so, but Thorn let her. “I only wish your father was here to see this.”

“I do too, mom,” Thorn said and hugged her again.

Jocelyn came with a soft sob and Thorn hugged her a little tighter.

Murtagh hadn’t seen Jocelyn in over a decade. While Thorn lived in Carvahall because of college, Jocelyn probably didn’t. And because of Saphira, Thorn was probably going to stay in the sleepy little town.

“Mom, there’s someone here you might want to see,” Thorn said and turned the woman around and pointed right at Murtagh.

He stiffened a bit. Murtagh wanted to glare at Thorn, but under the scrutiny of Jocelyn’s blue gaze, he didn’t dare to.

Thorn and Jocelyn walked over. Murtagh was very aware of how thoroughly Jocelyn was examining him.

Jocelyn had known Morzan, if only in passing, Murtagh suddenly realised.

Jocelyn stopped in front of Murtagh. Her piercing gaze continued to take him in. Murtagh had a very strong urge to flee. Before he could, Jocelyn pulled him into a motherly embrace.

“Oh, Murtagh,” she murmured and pulled back. Her hands cupped his face gently. “You have grown up so much.”

Murtagh felt a little weird in the company of the woman that he had, at one time, considered to be his surrogate mother. He wasn’t really sure how to act around her anymore.

“Serena would have been so proud of you,” Jocelyn said and smiled warmly at him. “You’ve become a very handsome man.”

Serena. His mother. Jocelyn had known her too. There was a lump in his throat. “Thank you, ma’am,” Murtagh heard himself say.

Jocelyn’s eyes sparkled. “Haven’t I told you to call me Jocelyn, Murtagh? Or mother, if you so wish.”

His eyes were starting to get wet. “Of course. Jocelyn.”

Her smile widened. “I almost didn’t believe Thorn when he told me he had bumped into you in sleepy little Carvahall last year.” She turned to her son. “It’s a shame of you to not have brought him to see me, Thorn.”

Thorn grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, mom. Things have been a bit hectic the past year.”

Her smile took on a mischievous tilt. “So Saphira tells me.”

Thorn blushed.

Murtagh had to let out a chuckle. Apparently Jocelyn knew she was about to become a grandmother.

“We really must catch up at the reception, Murtagh,” Jocelyn said and patted his cheek just like she had done with Thorn. Something warm spread in Murtagh’s chest. “Such a handsome man, indeed. I can scarcely see that father of yours in you.”

Murtagh blinked. He felt himself frown.

“Mom,” Thorn said with a slight edge in his voice.

“Now, I know you don’t like to hear or talk about him, but I just wanted you to know,” Jocelyn carried on. “You have your mother’s lovely dark hair and her kind, warm eyes and smile. That makes up for any features he has given you. Because it’s what’s on the inside that counts, Murtagh. Remember that.”

Murtagh could only blink again.

“Be ready, honey. They expect you out there in five minutes,” Jocelyn said to Thorn and kissed his cheek before walking out.

Murtagh stared after her. No one had ever said that to him; not even Tornac who had been a very good friend of his mother’s.

“...I think I needed to hear that,” he said softly.

Thorn looked at him. “...Then I’m glad she did,” he said and clasped Murtagh’s shoulder. “And she’s right. It is what’s on the inside that counts, and I know you’re nothing like him.”

Murtagh had a very odd urge to smile. “Thanks.”

Thorn grinned. “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“You better not let Saphira hear you call the wedding a show,” Brom warned him from across the room.

Thorn paled. “Ah, thank you, Brom.” He winced.

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow.

“The last time I did that she banished me to the couch,” Thorn whispered to him.

“...” Murtagh cleared his throat. “That is more than I wanted to know about your sex life, Thorn.”

The redhead gave him an awkward smile and let out a soft chuckle.

Murtagh frowned. Thorn’s shoulders weren’t as relaxed anymore.

“Thorn?”

He licked his lips. “...I’m nervous, Murtagh,” he admitted softly.

“Don’t be,” Murtagh found himself saying. “You love her and she loves you. You’re having a kid together. You’re going to get married and be so happy together that you’ll either make people jealous or disgusted because you are just too fricking happy.”

Thorn blinked in shock.

Murtagh blinked too. Where on earth had that little speech come from?

Thorn suddenly laughed. “Thanks, Murtagh. That helped.”

Murtagh just gave a shrug.

Thorn clasped his shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to hold a speech at the reception?”

“Fuck. No.”

Thorn laughed.

\----

Murtagh stood in the entry way with the bridesmaids, the other groomsmen and the wedding planner. She was jumping back and forward to fix a tie, someone’s hair or the way a certain clothing item fit. She was irritating Murtagh.

He looked into the church as he waited for things to begin. He really wished he could have been up there with Thorn, but he had to walk down the bloody aisle with some bridesmaid while everybody was watching. That was not exactly his idea of a good time.

The wedding planner checked in on Saphira, who Murtagh hadn’t seen at all today – no shock there – and walked back to them. “Alright, places everyone.”

The wedding planner had told Murtagh that he was to walk in last with Saphira’s maid of honour. The only one that would come after them would be Saphira and Brom.

Speaking of, Murtagh could see Brom standing on the bride’s side of the entry way with Eragon.

Now that he saw them together, Murtagh could more clearly see the family resemblance. Eragon had his father’s brown hair, but his father was taller. And while Eragon had Brom’s general characteristics, Murtagh supposed his mother’s genes had softened Eragon’s face a bit. He usually seemed very young – younger than he actually was. Now, dressed in a tux and with his hair actually somewhat under control, he looked more his age.

Murtagh looked back as the other bridesmaids and groomsmen got into a line. He placed himself in the back of it. He was vaguely aware of someone walking up to stand beside him, but he didn’t bother to check who it was.

The first three couples made their way into the church easily. The wedding planner gave them a last scrutinizing look before sending them inside. She waved forward each couple when it was their turn.

When Murtagh’s turn came, he sighed and walked forward. He felt his partner do the same.

The wedding planner gave a slight smile and motioned for them to wait.

Murtagh frowned. She hadn’t smiled for any of the others. He looked to see who his partner was.

Two wide brown eyes and slightly tense shoulder’s met his eyes. Eragon. Of course it was Eragon. Great, just great.

The wedding planner nodded for them to go ahead.

Murtagh looked ahead and started to walk. He felt Eragon do the same beside him.

Murtagh was painfully aware of the looks they were getting, but he ignored it. He could see the small, amused smirk on Thorn’s face. He focused on that. Thorn was going to get an ass-kicking when he got back from the honeymoon. Murtagh was going to be considerate enough to wait that long.

The thirty seconds it took to walk down the aisle felt like hours. Murtagh didn’t look at Eragon as he did so, and he had a feeling Eragon wasn’t looking at him either. The other groomsmen and bridesmaids had linked arms when they had entered, but apparently Eragon shared his opinion on not wanting to do that, because Murtagh couldn’t even feel their shoulder’s touching each other.

Murtagh turned to the right and stood beside Thorn. He sent the man a discreet glare before facing the crowd. He heard Thorn give a soft chuckle.

The music changed about a minute or so later. Murtagh recognised it as the music that was played whenever a bride entered. He had never bothered to learn what it was called.

Saphira entered the church arm in arm with Brom. She really looked stunning in the dress she had gotten. If Murtagh hadn’t known, he would never have suspected she was pregnant.

As everyone turned to look at Saphira, Murtagh shot a look at Thorn to see how he was doing. The anxiety had completely melted away. There was so much love in Thorn’s face that Murtagh had to look away. He allowed himself a small smirk when he saw the same love on Saphira’s face.

Oh yeah. They were going to be disgustingly happy, alright.

\----

The wedding had gone off without a hitch. Murtagh had seen a movie or two with a wedding in them, and he had silently cursed them during the ceremony. The ceremony was at least three times as long as what the movies made them out to be.

After the ceremony, He had ridden back to the hotel in a cab with Tornac and a couple of others. Murtagh didn’t care to remember who they had been.

It was now well into the reception. The table they were sitting at was U-shaped. Thorn, Saphira, Brom and Jocelyn sat at the top of the table. Murtagh sat next to Jocelyn and Tornac, though Jocelyn was actually more in front of him than next to him due to the design of the table. Murtagh was really glad Thorn had let Tornac sit beside him. The other groomsmen sat next to Tornac again, but Murtagh didn’t know them too well and wouldn’t have been comfortable sitting next to them the entire dinner.

The bridesmaids sat next to Eragon, who sat directly opposite Murtagh. They hadn’t really looked at each other since the ceremony, or at least, Murtagh hadn’t looked at Eragon. There were so many people in the room that Murtagh would probably not have been able to tell if everyone had been staring at him.

The first course had been served and devoured. Murtagh suspected that the speeches were going to be held next. He really hoped that only a few people were going to speak so they wouldn’t have to sit there forever and listen to everyone and their mother express their view on Thorn and Saphira’s relationship.

Thorn stood and everyone fell silent. Murtagh’s eyes were instantly drawn to the gold wedding-band on his right hand. Murtagh wasn’t sure when he would get used to seeing that.

Thorn didn’t have any cue-cards, and while he appeared nervous, he looked calm at the same time. There was a certain glow in his eyes that made up for the slight shaking of his hands.

“Thank you all for coming to celebrate this day with me and my beautiful bride,” he said and looked at Saphira. “We’re very glad so many of you could make it here today.”

Saphira smiled back at him.

“I cannot even begin to say how happy I am right now.” Though he was speaking to everyone, he kept looking back at Saphira. This speech was clearly meant for her. “I met Saphira properly three years ago when she started at the college here. We literally ran into each other outside the library and I fell in love right away. Now, I know what you’re thinking,” he gave an amused smile, “we’ve all fallen for someone at first glance. But the minute I saw you, Saph, I knew it had to be you.” Thorn looked at her as he said this.

Murtagh snuck a look and wasn’t really surprised when he saw that her eyes were starting to get wet.

“The more I got to know you, the surer I got. I knew I had met my soul-mate.”

Thorn seemed to have forgotten about everyone else in the room. His eyes were locked on Saphira.

“I am so lucky to have had you by my side for the past two years. You have no idea how happy you make me just by looking at me, Saph. I love you and I look forward to the years ahead of us as husband and wife.”

Murtagh heard a few sniffles down at the end of the table, but he was too busy looking at the tears running down Saphira’s cheeks.

The guests started to clap as Thorn sat down. Saphira didn’t wait a second longer to throw her arms around Thorn’s shoulders and kissing him.

Soft laughter and “aww”s echoed inside the room. Thorn and Saphira didn’t even seem to hear them. Thorn pulled back and wiped away Saphira’s tears with a big goofy smile on his face.

“I think Saphira wants to wait a bit with her turn,” Thorn said and looked at the guests.

Saphira blushed prettily as people laughed. She poked Thorn’s nose and turned to them. “If I don’t do it now, I’ll never be able to,” she smiled and got up. Her cheeks were still a bit flushed from blushing and crying.

She took a deep breath and smoothed hair away from her face. Her hair was done up in delicate curls with a few strands pulled back with a nice antique hairclip, but some parts still managed to get in the way.

“Like Thorn said, thank you all for coming,” she began her speech. “It really means a lot that you’ve all agreed to share this day with us.”

Saphira turned to Thorn and her eyes started to well up almost instantly. “I am so lucky to have found you. You are everything I ever dreamed of my soul-mate having. You are so kind, so sweet and so gentle, and I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you in my life.”

She put a hand over her mouth as tears started to fall. She blinked a couple of times and put the hand on her chest. Her voice was considerably throatier when she continued. “I am so glad that I procrastinated that week and didn’t go to the library until the last minute, because otherwise I wouldn’t have met you. I’m sure my professors wouldn’t be thrilled with me for saying this, but I don’t care. I have you, and nothing else matters.”

Murtagh thought he saw a slight wetness in Thorn’s eyes as Saphira rounded off her speech.

“I love you and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life as your wife.”

The guests clapped and a few of the women dabbed at their eyes with a handkerchief. Saphira sat down and hugged the man sitting next to her. Thorn cradled her close.

Murtagh found himself very moved by the atmosphere in the room, and was glad he had decided to come after all.

\----

The other speeches went by with fewer tears. Murtagh was glad he hadn’t been asked to make a toast, though he suspected a few people were wondering why he, the best man, hadn’t said anything. Murtagh had said his piece to Thorn before the wedding, and if he got the chance and the inspiration, then he would talk to Saphira as well.

Brom’s speech had made people chuckle at Thorn’s slightly stricken look when he stated “I’m glad you manned up and married my daughter, otherwise I would have pulled out the big guns and forced you to”. Murtagh wasn’t sure how many understood that Brom was talking about Saphira being pregnant, but people had laughed nonetheless.

Jocelyn had come with a speech to counter Brom’s, making him gulp a bit at her “I seem to remember someone else being in the same position back in the day”. Murtagh didn’t need to ask to know that Brom must have knocked up his bride before the wedding as well.

Glaedr’s speech had made most of the guests laugh when he teased the couple for being so besotted with each other and completely unable to see it in the beginning of their friendship. Murtagh had to admit that he had chuckled a bit at that himself.

Eragon had given a speech that made everyone smile when he had talked about how happy they obviously made each other and wished them all the luck in the world.

A few other people had made speeches as well, but Murtagh hadn’t really bothered to take notice of them, let alone remember what they had said.

After the speeches came the main course. And after that, people were finally allowed out on the dance floor. As soon as they were released from the table, Murtagh had gone off and found a spot to sit where he wouldn’t be too bothered.

Murtagh was currently watching Saphira and Thorn dance their first dance as a married couple. Their focus was only on the other.

Murtagh had used to be sceptical if such love even existed. It seemed too fairy-tale like. He still wasn’t quite sure it did, but he now believed that Thorn and Saphira had found the real life equivalent of it in each other.

Murtagh allowed himself to wonder when it would be appropriate for him to leave. He had already gotten used to the idea that shedding the tie and the vest wasn’t going to happen until after desert, but he would rather not stick around for much longer than that.

He was aware of someone sitting down beside him as he watched Thorn spin and dip Saphira, which to Murtagh’s knowledge wasn’t a part of the dance. It was probably just an excuse to make her laugh and kiss her, as that was what Thorn was currently doing.

“I never got to ask you how you know Thorn.”

Murtagh recognised that voice. Brom really wasn’t giving up; a quality he shared with his son.

“I met him when we were kids. He moved away the year he turned thirteen, I believe. We only recently met again,” Murtagh answered. It was specific enough, even though it was pretty generic. There was no way he was giving this man more details than he had to.

Brom hummed.

Murtagh almost thought he had satisfied the other man’s curiosity when Brom asked yet another question.

“In which city was this?”

Murtagh was tempted to just not answer or even walk away, but he knew it might upset Thorn or Saphira if he did either of those things. “Urû’baen. Didn’t Tornac tell you that?” he asked as politely as he could under the circumstances.

“No,” Brom answered.

He gave a shrug and went back to watching his best friend. Thorn was wearing that foolish grin again as he twirled Saphira.

“He did tell me you moved here less than a year ago.”

Murtagh never liked getting angry. The emotion made him feel uneasy and he often found himself thinking about unpleasant things when he got angry.

“That is correct. If you must know, I came here on an after-prison program,” Murtagh said, still not looking at the other man. If his anger showed on his face, then he wasn’t looking at Brom, damn the consequences. He knew how much he looked like Morzan when he got angry.

“Tornac told me that as well. He also told me that it’s a delicate subject with you, so I won’t pry on why you were there,” Brom said in a voice that Murtagh found himself comparing to that of a teacher. He didn’t know why, but there was just something in the way he spoke that made him picture himself as a sullen teenager ignoring whichever one of his high school teachers that was talking to him.

“Thank you,” he answered and tried not to make himself sound too snappy.

“He is very proud of you, you know,” Brom said then, shocking Murtagh out of his worsening mood. “Tornac thinks you’re a very bright young man, so it shocked me when he told me you never went to college, even in prison.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Murtagh answered automatically.

“Perhaps, but people change,” Brom then held something out. Murtagh turned to face him better. He blinked when he saw a business card in Brom’s hand. “Here. I work at the college. If you’re curious about any of the courses there, you can just give me a call.”

Murtagh took the card on autopilot and looked at it without really seeing it.

“While Tornac is a teacher, it has been a few years since he was a college student himself, and he admits that the system has become rather complicated. You can of course ask him to ask me, but if you’d rather ask me directly, know that you can call.”

Well, this explained the teacher voice, at least. Murtagh looked up and into Brom’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said and felt himself meaning it this time.

Brom gave him a nod. “I recognise a tortured soul when I see one.”

Murtagh found himself unable to speak, even after Brom had walked away.

The cake was cut only a few minutes later. Murtagh almost had to look away when Thorn and Saphira fed each other cake. It was just so sickly sweet.

But he couldn’t help but to feel happy for them. It was strange, to feel happy, even if it was just that he felt happy for someone else. He hadn’t felt happy in a long time. A part of him had even doubted he would experience happiness again.

Everything passed by relatively quickly from there. After the desert, there was some more dancing before the bride and the groom were due to leave. Murtagh planned to take his leave then as well.

He was watching Saphira dance with Brom and Thorn dance with his mother when someone approached him.

“Dare I say that it actually looks like you’re enjoying yourself?” Tornac said amusedly.

Murtagh just looked at him.

Tornac chuckled.

Murtagh looked back onto the dance floor. As he looked a little closer, he could see Nasuada and Arya dance together. Arya seemed to be leading.

“I have endured worse, I’ll admit that,” he said about a minute later.

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get out of you,” Tornac chuckled again.

Murtagh looked over at his friend again.

Tornac clasped his shoulder and squeezed softly. There was a fond smile on his face. “I’m really glad you came.”

“...Me too.”

Tornac’s smile widened. “Well, I assume you want to get out of here as soon as possible,” he winked and removed his hand. “I’m going to stick around for a few more hours, but feel free to call if there’s anything. I have my cell phone with me.”

“I’m not a child, Tornac,” Murtagh drawled.

He chuckled. “I know. Oh, believe me, I know.”

Murtagh watched him walk away.

The bouquet was thrown a few minutes later. Murtagh watched it all from a safe distance. Even though he wasn’t close to the action, he didn’t want that bouquet to land anywhere near him.

A woman Murtagh didn’t know caught it. The girls beside her squealed and hugged her. Murtagh shifted his focus back to the married couple.

It felt weird to think of Thorn and Saphira as married, but he would get used to it. Getting used to Thorn as a father would be even harder.

Thorn was reaching under Saphira’s skirt and pulling out the garter. The men were cat-calling. Murtagh preferred to keep his distance for the garter throw as well. Saphira was blushing prettily as Thorn finally pulled it out. Murtagh noticed that it was blue.

Some guy Murtagh didn’t know caught it when Thorn threw it. The men cat-called again. Murtagh just shook his head. He really didn’t get half of these wedding traditions.

It was then time for the married couple to retreat to the honeymoon suite. Murtagh knew they were booked on a flight to some tropical island sometime tomorrow, but for today they were going to stay at the hotel. The bride and groom made their way through the guests, shaking hands and hugging people they were close to.

Murtagh was surprised when Thorn shook his hand, then pulled him in for a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” Murtagh asked.

Thorn pulled back and clasped his shoulder. “For coming. I know how much you hate crowds, but it meant a lot to me that you were here today.”

Murtagh felt something inside of him soften. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Thorn looked about ready to cry.

“Go on. Go and be with your bride.”

Thorn laughed. “Oh God, it’s going to be a while until I get used to that,” his hands slipped into his pockets. “I have a wife, Murtagh. A wife.”

The other felt himself smile just a bit. “You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“God, I hope so,” Thorn chuckled. “Well, I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Enjoy your honeymoon.”

Thorn grinned foolishly again. He left without saying another word.

Murtagh was surprised when Saphira sought him out, but what surprised him the most was when she hugged him too.

“Thank you for being here.”

“Déjà vu,” Murtagh muttered.

Saphira smiled. “I know you probably don’t consider me a close friend, or even a friend at all, but a friend of Thorn’s is a friend of mine.”

Murtagh didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself a little bit, at least,” she said.

He gave a half shrug. “It wasn’t all bad.”

For some reason, this made Saphira smile brilliantly.

“Enjoy your honeymoon,” he said softly.

Saphira smiled and hugged him again. Then she was gone.

\----

It could only have been a couple of minutes later that Murtagh found himself sitting outside as he waited for the bus to arrive. Murtagh didn’t have too much cash and didn’t want to take a chance by calling for a cab. A bus would have to do, even though he wasn’t too familiar with the area. He’d make do.

He could still hear the party going on inside. It didn’t bother Murtagh that it was still going strong while he was outside alone. If anything, he preferred it this way.

Murtagh closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For the first time in a long while, he felt calm and relaxed. The summer was still present in the night air, but the wind was still cooler than it was during the day.

He was so focused on simply breathing that he almost didn’t hear someone approaching, but only almost. He opened his eyes and looked over at the entrance to the hotel. He was surprised by the sight that met him.

Unlike himself, Eragon was still wearing his suit jacket. His shoulders were hunched a bit and his hands were in his jacket pockets. He seemed both uncomfortable and cold. The wind was ruffling up his hair. Murtagh could remember it having looked almost decent for the wedding, but hours later with nervous fiddling and dancing had ruffled it up.

Eragon’s tuxedo was dark, though Murtagh couldn’t remember what colour exactly, and the night did nothing to distinguish it. He could remember Eragon’s tie being a light violet colour, the same with his vest. His shirt was white. The vest was gone and the tie was loosened. His state of dress was more relaxed than the last time Murtagh had seen him that day, but he seemed tenser.

It was Eragon that broke the silence. “...I saw you talking to my dad earlier.”

Murtagh looked away. “So?”

“...Nothing.”

Silence echoed around them again.

“...Why didn’t you give a speech?” Eragon asked, clearly having had to build up the courage to ask the question. Why he felt the need to ask it at all was beyond Murtagh.

“Because while Thorn calls me his best friend, I’ve only known him for a few short years. Before this, I hadn’t seen him for over a decade. What could I possibly have had to say on his wedding day?” Murtagh looked up at the sky. “Besides, I’m not big on the whole speaking in public thing. I’m happy for him, and he knows it. That’s enough.”

Eragon fell silent again. Murtagh felt more than he saw the other walk over.

“I’m not big on speaking in public either,” Eragon confessed, “but Saphira’s my best friend. I pushed through for her.”

Murtagh wondered what was on Eragon’s mind. Just earlier the brunet had been pointedly ignoring him and he was trying to be nice?

He thought back to the comment about Eragon’s father talking to him. Maybe Eragon figured that if Brom hadn’t punched him or something of that fashion, then he was actually an alright bloke underneath?

Murtagh was tired and didn’t feel like throwing out a sarcastic comment. He wanted to go home and sleep. And perhaps it would be better in the long run if they could be in the same room and not snipe at each other? No one said they had to be friends.

“She’s lucky to have a friend like you,” Murtagh said, though he still didn’t look at the other.

He heard Eragon shuffle his feet a bit. “Thorn’s lucky too.”

His bus arrived then. Murtagh got up and hailed it. He saw it slow down.

For some reason, he turned around and faced Eragon. Eragon looked back at him. The tousled hair nearly covered his eyes and his cheeks were flustered, from the cold perhaps?

He felt a sudden urge to say something, but he didn’t know what.

“Truce?”

When Eragon said it, he knew that had been what he had wanted to say.

“If you can handle it,” he said with a slight smirk.

Eragon looked at him through his bangs. His eyes were twinkling. “I think I can handle it just fine.”

Murtagh gave him a nod just as the bus stopped behind him. He turned around and walked on it.

As the bus started to move, Murtagh looked out of the window. Eragon was still there. Neither of them waved, but it didn’t matter. They had an understanding now.


	8. Lye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags carefully. They are relevant from the very beginning of the chapter. Murtagh has a dream about his past that feature not pleasant aspects.

Murtagh knew he was dreaming. He had to be. He had left this house behind almost seven years ago.

It looked just like he remembered it. It was a small and rather worn two-story house. There was a small basement there, but it wasn’t visible from outside. The yard was small, but immaculate. Murtagh remembered mowing it often.

It was night and only a couple of lights were lit; the living room and a room on the first floor Murtagh suspected was his own. He looked up there and saw a figure standing in the window.

In a flash, he found himself standing where the figure had been. He pulled the curtain back in place and looked around the room. It was indeed his old bedroom. He frowned when he realised something was wrong. The colours were muted, the room was dark and judging by the things cluttered around the room, Murtagh was supposed to be no older than fifteen at this time. But when he looked at himself, he was still twenty-five.

Sounds started to rise up then. Murtagh looked at the floor. They seemed to come from downstairs.

His heart-rate sped up. He knew those sounds. It was Wednesday – his father’s ‘poker night’.

He had to get away. He couldn’t be here now. He didn’t want to be here now.

Despite what his brain was screaming at him, Murtagh saw his hand reach out and open the door. He pushed it open and stepped into the hallway. The sounds were louder here. His brain screamed at him to go back, but his body wasn’t listening to him. He took one step, then another. He was getting closer to the staircase leading down to the ground floor.

The sounds were morphing now. It was no longer just drunken laughter and the clink of bottles and glasses being put down on a wooden surface. The laughter was still there, but it was different. Sinister. Chilling.

Murtagh felt his hand grab the banister as he stopped at the top of the stairs. Everything inside of him screamed at him to turn around or flee, but his body simply refused to listen. Instead he took one step at a time until he was halfway down the stairs.

The first thing he noticed was that the curtains were pulled shut in the living room. Then he noticed that the living room was actually empty. But the sounds were still there.

He didn’t stop when he reached the ground floor. His feet were taking him in a half-circle, over to the second staircase the one that led to the basement. He was able to reach out now to try to stop himself, but there was nothing to grab onto. When his hands closed around the banister on either side, they did nothing to halt his movements.

It seemed like he was downstairs in a flash, though the last three steps seemed to last forever. His eyes were glued on the scene that met him.

The living room upstairs was mainly for watching TV and entertaining guests, though the only guests they had were Morzan’s friends. Murtagh wasn’t allowed to have friends over when Morzan was home, and Morzan mainly entertained his guests in the basement. There were a couple of mattered couches there and a round table that Morzan and his friends played poker on.

But the table was abandoned. Murtagh couldn’t see clearly, but he could imagine that there were cards and wooden chips on it, along with whatever alcohol the men drank. He knew the room was lit up, but everything seemed so dark.

His gaze shifted to the couches, and it was there he found Morzan’s poker partners. His father was not in sight. They were standing in a circle around one of the couches. Everything else seemed muted and blurry, but those men were in an almost too sharp focus.

Murtagh came to another stop when he reached the bottom of the stairs. The laughter was loud now. He could also pick out cat-calling and something that sounded like skin slapping against skin.

Unwillingly, he felt himself move closer. The circle opened slowly, letting Murtagh see more clearly what was going on with each step he took.

The first thing he saw was himself. He definitely didn’t look any older than fifteen. His hands were trying desperately to cling to the couch material as he was partially bent over the arm. His legs were kicking wildly, but couldn’t seem to find a foothold. It didn’t help any that he was laying on his stomach either.

Then Murtagh saw the other person that was grasping the hips of his teenage self and bending over him. Murtagh then saw that his teenage-self had his pants tangled around his knees and that the man’s pants were undone and he was thrusting into him.

Murtagh sucked in a breath. He knew what this was.

He desperately tried to back away, but couldn’t. To his horror, he was still moving forward. And while he seemed to move in slow-motion, everything around him was moving at regular speed. His eyes were locked on a scene he had only experienced, but never seen before.

Then he suddenly realised that he recognised the man that was raping him. Only one of Morzan’s posse was bald and muscled like that.

The name was almost tumbling off his lips when the man looked right at him. Murtagh wanted to freeze. His brain screamed at him to stop and run in the other direction, but his feet continued to take him forward.

The man’s dark eyes stared right into his soul. He smirked and Murtagh saw his hips start to thrust faster.

Murtagh heard his younger self whimper and cry out in pain.

The man continued to look at him as his thrusts picked up speed. Murtagh was forced to watch his hips stutter and jerk as the man came with a moan. The young Murtagh shuddered. Murtagh was not surprised to see tears on his cheeks as he came to a stop.

The man sat up and chuckled. He pulled out and Murtagh was relieved to see the condom on his limp cock.

Young Murtagh looked over and right at his older self. Murtagh felt his insides freeze. _Help me,_ the eyes begged. _Please help me._

The man sat up and zipped up his pants. _“Care to have a go, Morzan? He has a fine ass.”_

Murtagh realised to his horror that somehow he had ended up standing in the place of his father. He felt his mouth move into a smirk. _“With your permission, who am I to say no?”_ he heard himself say.

His younger self tried to get away, but the man held him down. Murtagh screamed internally when he felt himself move closer and take the man’s place. He held his younger self down and unzipped his pants with one hand. He felt the man’s hand ghost down his arm. Murtagh wanted to scream and run.

He saw himself line his already stiff prick with his younger self’s abused entrance. He pushed inside. The young Murtagh screamed.

Murtagh woke up and threw up over the edge of the bed.

\----

He called in sick once he stopped puking. Murtagh didn’t care that it was several hours before his shift; he wanted to do it now before he convinced himself that it was alright and that he was fit to go to work.

Because he was anything but. He had never had a dream like that before. He suspected he would be shaking for hours. If he went to bed at all that night, Murtagh would be very surprised.

\----

He didn’t go to bed that night, but he did fall asleep. Each nightmare featured another vision similar to the first. Sometimes he watched, sometimes he was in his younger body and sometimes he was the perpetrator. Murtagh would always wake up just as he or someone else was about to enter his younger self, and each nightmare made him throw up. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have anything left in his stomach; he still heaved.

The next day dawned, and Murtagh was very glad it was threatening to rain. A sunny sky would only have made him feel worse. He had an irritating headache and he kept shivering despite the fact that it was hot and damp outside.

For once, Murtagh was very glad he had an appointment with Angela. He knew he should have called Tornac, but he didn’t want to worry his friend.

So that was how he found himself sitting in the waiting room fifteen minutes early for his appointment. He had gone out with plenty of time to spare, just in case it would take him forever to get there.

And it had. Murtagh couldn’t remember when he had left, but the walk had seemed to last over an hour.

He shivered again and huddled further into his hoodie. He rarely wore hoodies outside of his apartment, but he just couldn’t get warm and probably had a fever, so he didn’t care. He kept his eyes on the clock as he waited for his turn.

Murtagh was very thankful that it was another receptionist that day. If it had been the flirty one, she would probably have tried to take care of him or something. Murtagh could take care of himself, and if he had to have help, then his friends were the only ones that were allowed to help him.

Murtagh swallowed and tasted a bit of the mint from when he had forced himself to brush his teeth earlier. There as a slight taste of bile under the mint, but it was fading.

He looked up sharply when he heard Angela’s door open. Murtagh was relieved when he didn’t recognise the woman that walked out. She seemed a bit skittish and didn’t even look his way when she left.

He didn’t get up until he saw Angela walk out. She took one look at him and froze. Clearly he did look as bad as he felt.

Angela shooed him into her office. Murtagh didn’t really appreciate the way she hovered at his side until he sat down.

“What happened?” she asked, for once not sounding very professional.

“Bad night,” he answered hoarsely.

She sat down, but didn’t get out his file. Murtagh wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Murtagh pulled the sleeves over his fingers and clasped his hands together. He looked down at his hands. He still felt a bit cold, even though he knew Angela’s office was always at a comfortable temperature – be it summer or winter.

“Ok,” he said finally.

He couldn’t hear Angela move, let alone breathe. If he concentrated enough, he could pretend he was alone in the room and was just talking to himself.

“It was a memory,” he started. “At least, I think it was. I had several bad dreams, but I think they were all versions of the same memory.”

Murtagh stopped. He knew he should carry on. He knew Angela was helping him. It was just hard to admit that he was weak. It had always been hard to admit that.

“I think I was about fifteen in the memory. The sexual abuse had started two years earlier, but it had always just been my father.” He licked his lips. He didn’t take his eyes off his hands. “I think that was the first time he lent me out to his friends.”

He fell silent again. Angela was silent as well. She had never pushed him to talk about these things. If he wanted to talk, she let him. If he wanted to take a break or stop all-together, she let him. Murtagh was always grateful for that.

“Sometimes I just watched it,” he continued. “Sometimes I was in my younger body and...I could feel everything,” he whispered. “But...a couple of times I was the...the perpetrator.”

“This carried on throughout the night?” Angela asked professionally.

He just nodded. He heard her write something in his file.

“Do you know why?”

Murtagh looked up. He shook his head. He had no idea why tonight had been a big deal. Usually his nightmares were connected to specific dates when certain events that had happened in the past.

That’s when it hit him.

“Today is the first day he raped me,” Murtagh rasped. “His friends did it on that same day, two years later.”

Angela fell silent again.

“I had trouble sleeping during those nights when I lived at home, but I’ve always been able to sleep on this day after I went to prison. I don’t know why it would start up now.”

Murtagh wondered why. The reason, whatever it was, couldn’t be good.

“Do you want to try out a different sleeping medication?” Angela asked, though it didn’t sound like she expected him to say yes.

Murtagh thought about it. He wasn’t sure, so he just simply didn’t answer.

Angela sighed and went on with the session.

At the end of his hour, he gave her an answer.

“Yes, please.”

\----

Murtagh felt a bit of déjà-vu when he looked at the new bottle of sleeping pills. It looked just like the other one, which he supposed he still had somewhere in the apartment. Tornac had probably put them in the medicine cabinet or something the last time he had been over. The only thing that was different about this bottle was the name and the shape of the pills.

They were also white, but smaller and round as opposed to the others, which had been oval. They looked very innocent.

Murtagh instantly disliked it. He picked up the bottle and read the label. They were the ones that melted on your tongue. Murtagh was skeptical. So these he actually had to taste? He didn’t know what was worse – having to swallow them whole or tasting them.

He put the pill back in the bottle and put that and a glass of water on his night stand. If the nightmares returned, then he would give in and try them. But if not, then he was saving that for another day.

That night, his dreams were only plagued by his father. Because of that, Murtagh didn’t feel the need to try the pills. Even so, he kept the bottle on the nightstand and kept a fresh glass of water beside it.

If those dreams could return so abruptly and without warning, there was no saying how long they were there to stay.

\----

Summer was turning into autumn when Thorn and Saphira came home from their honeymoon. Murtagh hadn’t been able to spend much time with Thorn. He was a married man now, and a father-to-be. And Murtagh was happy for his friend. He wanted Thorn to be busy with those things.

But he was a bit lonely. It was a strange feeling. He had gotten used to being alone, and hadn’t even noticed that he had gotten used to people being around him. It was only when they were suddenly busy and he was alone again that he realised he had gotten used to the company.

He still saw Tornac about every other week, and work kept him somewhat busy, so Murtagh didn’t have the time to get completely lonely. And that was good. He didn’t know what he would have done to cure the loneliness then.

There had been times when he had been tempted to reach out to someone, but he always found a way to keep himself busy before he did that. Had he reached out, he knew someone would have understood that something wasn’t quite right. And Murtagh didn’t want to be the centre of attention like that.

So he went on going through his now slightly lonelier routine as the air slowly got colder. The autumn had finally come, and it was bringing visitors.

\----

He had been there for a year now. Strangely enough, Murtagh felt that time had mostly just flown by.

That day Murtagh felt his twenty-five years and more. He had finished a night shift at the bar earlier and hadn’t been able to sleep properly afterwards. Nightmare-like images would float up and startle him awake. He had gotten no more than a couple of hours actual sleep before dragging himself out of bed at eight in the morning.

Currently he was walking to the grocery store. He had forgotten to buy bread the day before and therefore hadn’t had any for breakfast. Murtagh had been in no mood to cook something for breakfast, so he was forced to go to the store.

There was a sharp autumn wind that day. Murtagh pulled the scarf tighter around his neck before slipping his hands back into the warm confides of his pockets. He didn’t usually mind the cold, but when he was sleep-deprived every gush of wind was biting. Had it been sunny, it would have been roasting him. He hated sensitivity like that.

It didn’t take long for him to grab the things he needed and get out of the store. He was eager to get inside and get some actual food in his stomach. Maybe even a cup of coffee or tea. He longed for something hot as well as filling.

Murtagh looked up as he prepared to cross the street. It was then he saw him. He froze.

Murtagh would recognise that face anywhere. He had seen it several times in his childhood, none of them which had ended well. Even if he had only seen the face on a billboard or a campaign poster, they triggered something in his mind that made memories flash before his eyes.

Murtagh was surprised when the next breath he took hurt and continued to hurt. He was hyperventilating. Murtagh forced himself to look away and practically ran across the street. A car honked at him, but Murtagh paid it no mind. He was too busy running away.

The man’s name was echoing inside his mind. It had been burned into him a long time ago. But he refused to say it. Saying it would make it real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

Murtagh found himself inside his apartment without even remembering how he had gotten there. He locked the door, and, before he could stop himself, was pulling every curtain shut.

He closed his bedroom door and sat down in the farthest corner of the room. Murtagh pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in them. He was shaking. He wanted it to stop. He couldn’t. He was still shaking. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think.

He just wanted it to stop.

The bag of groceries lay forgotten next to the front door.

\----

Murtagh knew he was worrying his friends and co-workers, but he couldn’t help it. Ever since he had seen _him_ , he hadn’t felt like himself. The nightmares had become memories again, and this time they hadn’t been about his father’s death.

It wasn’t often that he re-lived that part of his past in his dreams. It was usually the night his father died, which he had seen so many times that he had lost count. Occasionally he would relive the things his father and his posse had done to him, but it had been years since the last time. But now they were back again, and the past week had been filled with those memories.

He tried to keep away from his friends, and he was quite successful too. Thorn was busy with his new wife and Tornac was busy with teaching. Now that he was finally free from cancer, he could go back to teaching with new energy. And so Murtagh was mostly by himself. He hadn’t seen Thorn, Tornac or Angela after seeing _him_ , and hopefully his nerves would calm before he had to.

But his boss, Orrin and Nasuada, who probably were just trying to be nice, were noticing. That was bad, because it seemed like everyone knew everyone in Carvahall. If word got back to Thorn that he was acting like a ghost, then he would surely storm over. Murtagh was in no mood to deal with Thorn’s fussing.

He walked out of the bar after an afternoon shift feeling even more tired than he had been upon entering. The night had been filled with tossing and turning. He had thrown up that morning, and it had hurt. Everything in his body had screamed at Murtagh to stay at home, but he had gone to work anyway.

Murtagh really hoped he’d live to regret it.

He zipped up his jacket as he walked. It wasn’t particularly cold, but he was getting sleep-deprived again, so the chill felt colder than it usually would have. If this continued, Murtagh might just consider the sleeping medication again.

He could handle seeing his father die over and over, but he could not relive the other psychological and physical abuse he had suffered.

Murtagh sighed and looked out at the slowly setting sun. The sky was very much still blue, but there was a slight hint of the golden hue that would take over the sky when the sun was setting. He looked at it for a few more seconds before heading for home.

He was too lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the person ahead of him until they spoke.

“Well, well, well; if it isn’t little Murtagh.”

Murtagh felt the blood freeze in his veins. He froze on the spot. No, this couldn’t be _happening_.

But it was. The figure in front of him was unmistakable. It had been twelve years, but the man didn’t seem to have changed at all. The suit was the same style, but obviously more modern, and it still framed his strong build. His face was still the same; the strong jaw and baldness standing out. But what frightened Murtagh the most was the predatory glimmer in his eyes and the all-too familiar smirk on his lips.

“You grew up quite nicely.” The smirk widened. “You look just like your father.”

Murtagh snapped. He felt his body come to life, though it was still sluggish from the shock. He slowly began to back up.

“Imagine my disappointment when I heard that you had gotten out six months after the fact.” The man actually looked disappointed. “And then to hear that you had left the city? You wound me, Murtagh. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Murtagh was positive that the man could hear his heart beating. He wouldn’t be surprised if it leaped out of his chest and ran off.

“It took me a while to find you,” the man tutted.

Murtagh was surprised he had even found him at all. His court records were supposed to be sealed, at least the documents concerning his change of name and relocation. He wondered how the man had found him. Then again, money could go a long way. A bribe here and there and there wasn’t much information that remained impossible to obtain.

“I’m surprised you even bothered,” Murtagh found himself saying.

There was something eerily similar to a smirk on his lips. “Of course I did. I missed you.”

Murtagh sucked in a sharp breath. His heart was beating so fast he could barely hear anything over it. He was starting to get dizzy.

The man took a step forward. Murtagh felt himself take one backwards. He needed to get away. Now.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Murtagh found himself saying.

He was smirking now. “I’m just passing through town and happened to run into the son of a dear friend.”

It felt like he had been slapped. No. _No_. If he said anything, everyone would know –

“Leave, and I won’t tell them what you did.” The words were thick on his tongue. He had to literally force them out.

The man laughed. “You won’t tell, Murtagh. You never did.”

“Things change.” Before Murtagh could change his mind, he turned around and walked away. He rounded the corner and started to run. He never once looked back.

\----

Murtagh wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it had started to rain by the time he reached his destination. He was drenched by the time he managed to stumble over to the door. His shaking finger wouldn’t hit the doorbell, so he knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened and a familiar face came into view. “Murtagh?”

Murtagh couldn’t get himself to speak.

“You’re shaking.” Tornac put an arm around him. “Come on.” He led Murtagh inside.

Tornac got him out of his drenched jacket and sodden shoes. He then led Murtagh to the bathroom and told him to stay there. Murtagh did. A minute or so later, Tornac returned with some dry clothes and ordered Murtagh to change. He did as told.

When he stepped out, Tornac wrapped him in a warm blanket and led him to the living room. Murtagh saw that Tornac had pulled out a heater. It was a little early in the autumn still, so Tornac had most likely pulled it out of some closet. When he was forced down on the couch beside it, Murtagh started to shake a bit more. Suddenly it was warm. Warmth was returning to his limbs, but his insides remained cold.

“What were you doing out in a weather like this?” Tornac asked and sat down beside him.

Murtagh pulled the blanket tighter around himself. He didn’t answer.

Tornac came closer and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Murtagh?”

“Galbatorix.” The name was out of his mouth in a rush. He forced it out before his mind could catch up with him and stop him.

Tornac was stumped. “Galbatorix who?”

“Galbatorix King,” Murtagh forced out and squeezed his eyes shut. Despite his best efforts, his mind was catching up with him, presenting him with images to go with the name.

“...The senator?”

He had been made senator while Murtagh had been gone. Figures.

“Murtagh?” Tornac’s hand squeezed a little tighter. “What’s going on?”

“He knew my father.” That was all he could say. He couldn’t say just how Morzan had known Galbatorix, just how he had known Galbatorix.

The silence that followed was stifling. Murtagh had problems just breathing. Then again, that could be because he was starting to panic.

“That son of a bitch.”

Murtagh jolted at the raw anger in Tornac’s voice. Tornac had found out about Morzan’s abuse purely by accident back in Urû’baen. That had been about a month before Morzan’s death. He had been furious. Murtagh remembered begging Tornac not to go to the police. _I’m getting out anyway_ , Murtagh remembered saying. _I’m going to college in Teirm. Just two more months, and I’ll be free of it all._

Murtagh hadn’t told Tornac much; just that the bumps and scrapes Tornac had fussed so much over had been more. Tornac had put together the rest. Murtagh was very relieved he never had been forced to say the words out loud. It had been hard enough to tell his shrink and Thorn. Tornac who he had known as his life...even now Murtagh couldn’t imagine having to tell the man that his own father had passed him around like a common whore since he had been fifteen.

“What made you think of him now?” Tornac wanted to know. The anger was still shining bright in his eyes. It was hard for Murtagh to look at him.

“...I saw him.”

The silence that followed scared Murtagh. Tornac wasn’t speaking. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was going on in Tornac’s mind.

“Where? I’m going to hunt him down.”

Murtagh looked at him in shock. There was nothing familiar about Tornac’s face. He was angrier than Murtagh had ever seen him.

“How dare he come here for you?” Tornac ranted.

Murtagh wanted to say that Galbatorix probably hadn’t known, that it was just a coincidence, but he knew that would have been a lie and he knew Tornac would have sensed it.

“You should tell the police.”

“No,” Murtagh said, surprised at how determined he sounded.

“This man took advantage of you, Murtagh,” Tornac all but growled. “I am not letting him terrorize you again. Not when you have come so far.”

“The statute of limitations has probably run out. I don’t want to -”

Tornac looked deep into his eyes. Murtagh felt himself stop speaking without even being told to do so.

“I looked into it after your trial,” Tornac confessed. “There is no statute of limitations for crimes that the public considers heinous. Rape, especially sexual abuse of minors, falls under that category. You can still press charges.”

“There is no proof!” Murtagh exclaimed. “It’s just my word against his!”

“All those times you went to the ER -”

“They never checked me for sexual assault,” Murtagh cut him off. The words tasted weird in his mouth. There was a finality about them that he didn’t like. It was like he could use the layman term, but not the political term.

“Are you sure?” the older man asked.

“Yes. Otherwise they would have contacted my father since I was a minor at the time. And if he had known he would have...” Murtagh felt himself trail off before he even knew he was doing it.

“Hurt you?” Murtagh felt himself flinch. Tornac just carried on. “Maybe the hospital did tell him, and he managed to convince them he was pressing charges himself. Maybe he even picked up the files to give to the police.”

“Then they’re gone. He could have thrown them out or burned them.”

“There’s only one way to know for sure,” Tornac said determinedly.

Murtagh shook his head. “Besides, even my father wasn’t that persuasive to persuade the hospital not to press charges because he was going to do it himself.”

“Ever the pessimist,” Tornac patted his shoulder. “But I want to pursue this, Murtagh. For you.”

Murtagh knew he only wanted to help, but there were some things he didn’t want to mess with. “I don’t want you to.”

“Murtagh,” Tornac uttered firmly. “This man is practically stalking you.”

“If he comes knocking on my door, then I’ll call the police.”

“But by then it might be too late!” Tornac grabbed his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. Murtagh could practically see himself reflected in his friend’s grey orbs. “Please. Let me help you.”

Tornac’s expression made him pause. Murtagh knew Tornac only meant good, but he couldn’t see how any good would come from this.

And so he shook his head. “Not until something else happens.”

Tornac looked at him sadly. “Very well. But you’re staying here tonight.”

Murtagh expected no less from his mentor. And right then, despite everything else, he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to be alone. For once he’d allow himself to be selfish and cling to the company he had while it lasted.

\----

Murtagh wasn’t sure who was in charge of the playlist in the bar that day, but he had a sneaky feeling it was Arya. Even though he didn’t know her very well, he didn’t know who else would put together the pop, dance and soft rock mix.

A girl came in then. Murtagh only recognised her because she was a co-worker. By the way she had a slight bounce in her step Murtagh suspected it had been her and not Arya that put together the playlist.

She greeted him, but he only grunted in return. He had never bothered to learn her name, even though he was sure it was pinned on her obviously fake bosom.

Murtagh took a quick glance around the bar. He only saw regulars, but none he knew by name or because his ‘friends’ had introduced them. His friends came by less and less. Then again, Thorn was busy with his very pregnant wife and Murtagh suspected Eragon wouldn’t come with just that blond airhead whose name Murtagh never could remember. He hadn’t seen anyone else from the wedding come by, and guessed they weren’t the type to frequent in bars.

He noticed their absence. It was weird how easily he noticed things like that. He noticed it when Thorn called less and less and...well, he was the only one besides Tornac and his parole officer that called.

He shook some hair out of his eyes and attended to the young woman that had approached the bar. Murtagh recognised her, but only because she insisted on ordering sexual drinks in the smokiest voice she could. Her friends always watched them eagerly.

Murtagh had contemplated playing the gay card more than once, but was hesitant to use it due to the backfire it could have. Sometimes there was a guy or two on the table she sat at and if she told them he was gay, well...it wasn’t worth it.

Murtagh made a ‘Screaming Orgasm’ -her preferred drink of the evening- and gave her the change. She left with an obvious pout on her lips.

He blinked in surprise when he recognised the people entering the bar just then. It was Thorn, and he wasn’t alone. Glaedr and Shruikan were with him. He was still in a bit of a shocked stupor when Thorn approached the bar.

“Hey stranger,” Thorn smiled. “Long time, no see.”

“...Where’s Saphira?” Murtagh asked once he finally managed to force himself to react. He spared a quick glance at the other two. They had found a booth and were making themselves comfortable.

“She’s having a girls-night-in thing with Eragon and Aksel,” Thorn said with an amused smile.

“...Girls-night-in?” Murtagh repeated to make sure he had heard right.

“Yeah,” Thorn chuckled. “We tried to tell her that you can’t have a girls-night-in when the majority were boys, but quite frankly, we’re all scared of her temperament right now,” he sweatdropped.

“Well, she is pregnant,” Murtagh drawled.

“She was terrifying before she was pregnant. Be glad you were spared of her wrath.”

Thorn looked at him. Murtagh suddenly felt himself being sized and measured. He wondered what Thorn saw.

“You look tired,” the redhead said finally. “Have you been sleeping well?”

Murtagh contemplated lying, but had a feeling Thorn would see right through it. “You know me and sleeping,” he answered instead.

Thorn frowned.

“Did you want something, or did you just come to chat?”

Thorn’s frown deepened. “Two beers and one water.”

Murtagh fixed the drinks and counted up Thorn’s change mechanically.

“When do you get off?” Thorn asked as he grabbed the three glasses.

“Nine,” Murtagh said and checked the clock as he did so. Only thirty minutes left of his shift. He licked his lips. Ever since what happened last week, he had been somewhat reluctant to walk around alone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like he could ask Thorn to walk him home every day after work. And asking Tornac was out of the question.

“I think we’ll still be here by then. Stop by our table, yeah?” the redhead said and left without waiting for Murtagh to answer.

He sighed. As much as he actually enjoyed being acknowledged by someone that wasn’t trying to get into his pants, Thorn’s mother-henning could be a little much sometimes.

Murtagh fixed his hair tie and started to wipe down the counter. Someone had spilled a drink earlier, though Murtagh couldn’t remember his face. He heard the door open, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t much care if someone had come or left.

The bar fell silent almost instantly. Curiosity spiked, Murtagh felt himself look up.

Murtagh instantly wished he hadn’t. His entire body stiffened. There he was again. Galbatorix. And he was looking around like he wasn’t some big hotshot senator that had just stepped into a lowly bar he wouldn’t normally look at twice.

He turned around and forced himself to relax. Galbatorix probably wasn’t there for him. It was ridiculous to assume he was dedicated enough to follow Murtagh to work. But Murtagh couldn’t quite relax. The flight part of his brain had woken up and was screaming at him to flee.

He forced himself to move and stepped out from behind the counter. He started to pick up empty glasses and bottles from the vacant tables in the back. Murtagh couldn’t help noticing when people started to talk again. Murtagh was afraid to look at Thorn’s table. He was afraid of what he’d see.

He stalled by carrying empty bottles and dirty glasses to the back, but eventually he had to go back to the bar. Thankfully Galbatorix and his party of three had found a booth and made themselves comfortable. A quick look told Murtagh that they had already been served, so if they could sip those drinks for another twenty-five minutes, then Murtagh was free.

Murtagh dutifully served other customers for about ten minutes. He was almost starting to think he could get away. But he had never been that lucky.

“And what do we have here?”

Murtagh froze again. He forced himself to turn around after he was sure that his face was as blank as he could make it.

Galbatorix was leaning against the counter. There was a very familiar and spine-chilling predatory look in his eyes.

For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Murtagh forced himself to take a breath and speak. “What do you want?” he said emotionlessly.

Galbatorix smirked.

He was stuck between horror and anger. He hated being afraid, and this man always brought out that emotion in him.

“If you don’t want anything to drink, you can leave,” Murtagh said tersely. He was proud of himself for being able to stand his ground and not running away screaming like he really wanted to.

“I didn’t know you worked here.”

“It’s none of your business where I do or don’t work,” Murtagh said. His hand tightened around the cloth he had used to wipe down the tables earlier.

Galbatorix’s smirk just widened. “Someone seems to have located his spine.”

Thirteen minutes. He just had to last thirteen more minutes, then he could run.

“I have other paying customers,” Murtagh said and walked a few steps down the counter to tend to a girl that had been approaching them. Seeing him walk away from Galbatorix made her change her course so she could meet him halfway.

Murtagh felt Galbatorix’s eyes on him the entire time he was serving her. Murtagh was almost tempted to flirt with her to show the other man he wasn’t as affected by his presence as he actually was. But he knew he would never be able to pull it off. His hands were starting to shake. He needed to get away. Now.

He looked past the girl as she grabbed her drinks and went back to her friends. Thorn’s eyes met his. He looked worried. Glaedr looked confused. Murtagh couldn’t interpret the look on Shruikan’s face.

Murtagh broke the contact and went back to cleaning up. He felt more than he saw or heard Galbatorix approach again.

“I want nothing more to do with you,” Murtagh heard himself say. “Leave now before I have you thrown out.”

Galbatorix chuckled. Murtagh wanted to shiver. That had never been a pleasant sound.

“You know who I am, Murtagh.” Murtagh felt like vomiting when Galbatorix purred his name. “You can’t throw me out.”

“Murtagh.” Oh God, Thorn had walked over. “Is this guy bugging you?”

Murtagh was forced to look up. “Of course not,” he answered quickly. He knew Thorn could see the lie in his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Thorn frowned.

“Refill?” Murtagh asked before Thorn could open his mouth and potentially cause a disaster. It was vital that Galbatorix didn’t find out what Thorn knew. Because if he came after Thorn, then Murtagh didn’t know what he’d do.

“...No thanks.” Thorn gave Murtagh another look, then walked back to his table.

There was still ten minutes left, but Murtagh couldn’t take it anymore. He walked away and slipped into the back. He grabbed his things and walked out the back door. He hurried away from the bar as fast as he could without outright running.

But even that wasn’t fast enough. A car pulled up beside him and the bane of his existence walked out.

“Leave me alone,” Murtagh forced out and continued to walk. He was not slowing down for this. He had to get away.

“Now, now Murtagh -” The voice made him want to run, but Murtagh held himself back. It was enough that he had obviously taken off because of Galbatorix’s presence. He wouldn’t give the other more satisfaction than that.

Murtagh turned around and forced himself to look at Galbatorix. “There is no statute of limitations on sexual assault of minors. You think about that.” Having said that, Murtagh forced himself to carry on.

He heard tires screech and had to step back when a stylish limousine-like car made him unable to cross the street. Murtagh looked back and right into Galbatorix’s eyes. He stumbled back a step.

“You wouldn’t tell,” Galbatorix said dangerously.

For some reason, the calm and collected man had left. The man in front of Murtagh was one Murtagh knew was capable of many terrible things.

Then Galbatorix visibly pulled himself together. “Even if you did, who would believe you, hm?” he said amusedly.

“That’s what you think.”

Murtagh had no idea where this courage was coming from, because on the inside he was screaming at himself to run.

Galbatorix’s face darkened again. “What did you do, boy?”

Boy. He hadn’t been called that in a long time. Murtagh remembered his father saying it before –

“I didn’t do anything.”

Galbatorix didn’t believe him; that much was clear on his face. Murtagh bit back a pained grunt when Galbatorix stalked forward and slammed him up against the car. The handle dug painfully into his lower back. His scar felt like it was on fire.

He was so close now. Murtagh could see the raw anger and hate in Galbatorix’s eyes. He wondered if this was what it felt like to look death in the eyes.

“What did you do?” Galbatorix repeated.

The man’s hands were twinned into the material of Murtagh’s jacket. His collar felt a little tight. Murtagh wondered if Galbatorix was going to choke him.

“Nothing,” he said again.

Galbatorix snarled.

Murtagh heard people approach. A professional looking man – Galbatorix’s chauffeur perhaps – put a hand on Galbatorix’s shoulder and whispered something Murtagh couldn’t hear. Galbatorix let him go, but the hate remained in his eyes.

Murtagh pushed away from the car. His heart was beating wildly, but he continued to look Galbatorix in the eye. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that he had to do something, but he didn’t know what. He had to say something, or he would be haunted forever.

He just didn’t know what to say.

“I haven’t said anything yet.” But whatever that had been, what Murtagh chose to say probably hadn’t been the right thing. But he couldn’t stop himself. It was like it wasn’t himself speaking. “Leave me alone, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Galbatorix truly looked ugly now. Every fibre of his being told Murtagh to run, scream, cry, anything but staying put and staring at his tormentor.

“We’ll see, boy,” Galbatorix said deadly. “We’ll see.”

Murtagh backed away from the car and watched the other man get in. In seconds, the chauffeur had gotten in as well and the car had driven off.

Murtagh had no idea what had just happened, but he knew it hadn’t been a good thing.

\----

Murtagh sat on his couch, nursing a cup of coffee. Thorn sat beside him.

After Galbatorix had left, Thorn had come out and found him. They had walked back together. During the walk there, Thorn hadn’t said one word.

Murtagh was still waiting for him to speak.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Murtagh had to snort. Of all things to say, Thorn chose that.

Apparently Thorn got what Murtagh was saying, because he specified his question. “You know the senator. How?”

Murtagh took a sip of his coffee. It was getting lukewarm, but it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t a big coffee drinker, but sometimes he just had the urge to drink it. It was like alcohol to him – sometimes he just had to have a sip.

He wondered how to phrase the answer to Thorn’s question. Thorn had no reason to believe him, but he had also no reason to think he was lying. And knowing Thorn, he’d probably believe whatever Murtagh said.

Murtagh licked his lips. He warmed his hands on the still warm cup. “He knew my father.”

The room had been silent before, but this was a different kind of silence. Murtagh looked down at the dark brown liquid. He hadn’t put much into it – just some sugar. He couldn’t even really taste it. He was just drinking it.

“Son of a bitch.”

He felt his lips twitch. Thorn and Tornac were so eerily similar sometimes. They were so fiercely protective that sometimes he wondered what he had done to deserve their friendship.

“He didn’t do anything,” Murtagh said and looked over at Thorn.

Thorn’s expression of disbelief almost made him look comical.

“Now,” Murtagh corrected himself. “He didn’t do anything now.”

“...How can you be so calm?” Thorn asked in disbelief.

“I’m far from calm,” Murtagh told him.

Thorn fell silent. That was fine with Murtagh. He stared down in his cup while the silence echoed around them.

At least his mind was blissfully quiet for once.

“I can’t believe...” Thorn’s voice trailed off.

“What?” Murtagh asked quietly.

“I never liked the look of that guy, but I never thought that he had those kinds of skeletons in his closet.”

Murtagh supposed he could understand that. But then again, most criminals didn’t look like criminals. And the ones that did, he supposed their specific crime were hard to pinpoint. But it had always been too clear what Galbatorix was in Murtagh’s eyes.

“What did you tell your friends?” Murtagh asked and put the cup down on the table. He wouldn’t be able to finish it anyway. He was starting to feel a little sick. Then again, that might have been because of what they were talking about rather than what he was drinking.

“That you didn’t look too well and I wanted to check up on you,” the other answered.

Murtagh looked at him. Thorn had lied for him? An old emotion flared up in his chest. “Thanks.”

Thorn grunted. “Not my secret to share, even though I’d trust them with my life.”

Murtagh sighed.

They fell silent again. Murtagh looked at the clock on the wall. He had some errands to run tomorrow, and right now he was looking even less forward to that than usual.

“Don’t you need to be home soon?”

Thorn looked over at him. “I can call Saphira. She’ll understand.”

Murtagh shook his head. “No. You should go home to your wife.”

There was a slight spark in Thorn’s eyes when Murtagh mentioned their marital status, but it was quickly swallowed up by worry. Murtagh didn’t know whether to feel honoured or annoyed.

“I’ll be fine. He doesn’t know where I live.”

“Murtagh, I saw him,” Thorn said firmly. “He looked pissed. I think you should stay with one of us for a while.”

He shook his head firmly. “He isn’t allowed to scare me anymore.”

“But he does,” the redhead said before Murtagh could continue. “I can see that. I’m sure he could too.”

Murtagh’s lips thinned and he looked away.

“I think it’s great that you’re finally standing up for yourself, but King is a powerful man,” Thorn said very softly. “You don’t just piss off men like him.”

Murtagh didn’t speak.

“I don’t want to lose you now that I’ve finally gotten you back.”

Murtagh forced himself to look over at Thorn. Thorn looked genuinely worried.

“You could stay with Saphira and -”

“No,” Murtagh interrupted him. “You have a kid on the way. I’m not going to be around and just add onto your burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Thorn said sternly.

“If I really have to, I’ll go and stay with someone else.”

Thorn looked a little sceptical, but he nodded nonetheless.

After a while, Murtagh finally managed to convince Thorn that it was ok for him to leave. Thorn told him to lock up after he had gone, something Murtagh had been planning to do anyway.

As he stood there, staring at his locked door, he silently wondered just how long he would be able to shut out his demons before they broke through and took over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm an avid CSI fan, so I tend to use cop-speech quite often. Here's a couple of explanations  
> * _Statute of limitations_ is an act in the common law legal system that puts a limit to how long after a crime you can still prosecute the person that committed the crime. As Tornac says in this chapter, heinous crimes such as murder (especially in the first-degree) and rape (all kinds), especially sexual abuse of minors, have no statute of limitations. But for other crimes, there are certain time limits.  
>  * _ER_ = Emergency Room.


	9. Mercury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning; Murtagh acts extremely OOC in a part of this chapter. It's due to sleep deprivation, so don't worry about it being permanent.
> 
> This is the first chapter that I actually had to edit for FFnet. While it's not a lot more explicit than the dream Murtagh had in the previous chapter, it was enough to make me feel the need to edit it.

Murtagh was constantly on edge. Ever since Galbatorix had showed up at the bar, Murtagh hadn’t been able to relax. He felt horribly paranoid, and there was a tightness in his chest that wouldn’t go away. It felt disturbingly like fear.

It wasn’t often that he got company, but whenever someone walked past his door, Murtagh would flinch. And when someone did knock, Murtagh practically had to force himself to go over and open it.

Like now. So far, only Thorn had come to visit. Murtagh contemplated giving him a spare key so he wouldn’t have to knock, because all this stress could hardly be good for him. But getting a spare key meant giving out his key to a shop and have them make a spare. That meant parting with it, trusting it with someone else, and Murtagh wasn’t really trusting these days.

But still, when the knock sounded again, Murtagh had to force himself to move towards the door. It was stupid to feel this scared. It wasn’t Galbatorix. Galbatorix had probably already left, and even if he hadn’t, he didn’t know where Murtagh lived. It was one of his friends. It had to be.

And it was. When Murtagh opened the door, he found Tornac standing on the other side. He gave a silent sigh of relief.

“Where you expecting someone else?” Tornac asked amusedly.

Murtagh just shook his head. He held his door open for the other to enter. Tornac nodded and walked past him.

Murtagh looked down the hallway before he could stop himself. There was something inside of him that had to know there was no one else there. He closed the door and just barely managed to stop himself from locking it at the same time.

He turned around wasn’t surprised to find Tornac in the kitchen. Tornac looked to be putting on the kettle.

Murtagh frowned. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

“Sit down and I’ll bring the tea out when it’s ready.”

Definitely not a good thing, Murtagh decided. Nonetheless, he sat down on his couch and waited.

Tornac came out carrying a tray with two steaming cups, a bowl of sugar and some tea bags about five minutes later. Murtagh hadn’t even known he owned a tray, let alone so many different tea bags.

Tornac started to make his tea effortlessly. Murtagh stared at him for a while before looking at his cup. He only had powder coffee, as he couldn’t be bothered with a coffee-maker. Murtagh grabbed one of the bags, emptied the powder into his cup and started to stir.

The older man took a sip of his tea and sighed contentedly. “So,” he said and took another sip, “how have you been?”

Murtagh continued to stir the powder into the warm water. Tornac hadn’t made many ‘how have you been?’ visits since his first couple of months in Carvahall. Something was definitely up.

“Fine.”

Tornac crocked an eyebrow. “Thorn came by.”

Shit. Of course Thorn had to run to Tornac and tell him what had happened.

“He didn’t do anything,” Murtagh found himself repeating. It didn’t matter that this was a different conversation with a different person; it felt like he had been repeating that sentence over and over lately. “He hasn’t done anything afterwards either.”

Tornac didn’t look comforted by his words. “Tell me what happened.”

Murtagh really didn’t want to, but Tornac’s expression told him he’d better. He sighed, picked up his cup and cradled it as he talked.

“Oh, Murtagh,” Tornac said when he was finished. “What a time to grow a backbone.”

Murtagh sighed. “I know. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad you talked back to him.” Tornac put down the half-drunk tea and looked at him. “But you could have chosen your words -”

“More carefully? Yeah, I know.”

“Now, the news say that the Senator has left town, but I want you to be careful, Murtagh,” Tornac said. Murtagh hated the worry he could see on his face.

“I already am, Tornac. I’m jumping at shadows, for fucks sake. It’s pathetic.”

Tornac patted his shoulder. “Do you want to come and live with me for a while?”

“No. I don’t want to be a burden,” Murtagh said automatically. There was also another reason, but he didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to let Tornac know how scared he actually was.

“You would never be a burden, son,” the blond said fondly.

Suddenly there was a lump in Murtagh’s throat. “Thank you.”

Tornac just smiled.

\----

“Murtagh?”

Murtagh jerked out of the light daze he wasn’t even aware of having slipped into. He looked over and found Angela giving him a concerned look.

“Are you ok?”

He nodded mutely.

Angela didn’t look like she believed him, but that was ok. Murtagh didn’t believe himself either.

“What’s new, then?” she asked and looked at him over the rim of her glasses.

Murtagh didn’t want to tell her about Galbatorix. Too many people knew already.

“Nothing much.”

Angela didn’t look like she believed that either. “Murtagh.”

He just looked at her. If she wanted to call him out on his bullshitting, then by all means, but he wasn’t going to tell her. In the back of his mind, he could still hear that man’s voice whispering _‘you wouldn’t tell’_.

“I haven’t been sleeping as well. Nightmares,” he confessed.

She sighed. “And you haven’t been taking your pills.”

He nodded even though he knew it hadn’t been a question.

“I don’t know why,” he said before she could ask. And he didn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t reach over and tried one of the pills. He could handle the nightmares about his father, but lately those had been coming less and less. Galbatorix was taking over his mind.

Murtagh supposed he was still punishing himself somewhat, but it didn’t feel like it anymore.

“You look dead tired,” Angela said then.

Murtagh was shocked. It wasn’t quite like her to be so blunt. True, she had had some blunt moments in the past, but this felt different.

“If the nightmares continue to disrupt your sleep like I suspect they have for quite some time, I want you to try the pills.”

Murtagh opened his mouth to argue, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Did you sleep through the night before this?”

He closed his mouth. When he dreamed about his father, he usually slept through the night. That was true. He had gotten so used to those nightmares that, while they still terrified him, they were familiar. Compared to the dreams about Galbatorix, they were a comfort. But now, with these new nightmares, he kept waking up and almost not wanting to fall asleep again in fear of what would meet him.

“Yes,” he answered finally. “Before you ask, no, I don’t sleep through the night anymore.”

Angela’s mouth tightened slightly. “Are you still punishing yourself?”

He couldn’t look at her.

Hours seemed to pass by in silence.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. But before he left, he answered her question.

“I don’t know.”

\----

Murtagh found himself back in the park opposite the church a few days later. The autumn was coming on strong. He wouldn’t be surprised if it started to snow, even though it was only October.

He had slowly started to relax into the bench. The back wasn’t perfectly straight, and so his own back had curved to follow it. His hands were folded gently in his lap. Murtagh’s head was tipped back as he looked up at the grey sky. He couldn’t even see the sun through the heavy clouds.

Murtagh could see his breath flow out of his mouth as he breathed. It really was starting to get cold. His fingers were tingling. He wished he could wear gloves, but the thought still made him want to vomit.

He slowly rubbed his hands together and felt the pricking intensify. He bit back a wince. If he kept this up he might get frostbite. Tornac would never let him live that down.

Murtagh looked down at his lap. His hands were terribly red. He shoved them into his jacket pockets and patiently waited for the fabric to warm up. He shivered softly.

“Murtagh?”

He was flooded by a sudden onslaught of déjà vu. He looked over, but this time it wasn’t Thorn that had called his name. Instead it was someone he never would have considered calling out to him before.

He couldn’t help but to notice that Eragon looked uncomfortable; like he maybe hadn’t meant to speak up. Eragon looked much more prepared than Murtagh for a sudden winter than with his thicker jacket, boots and gloves.

“Eragon.”

Eragon was wringing his hands slightly.

This was the first time Murtagh had seen him since the wedding. He had known what to expect from Eragon before. They hadn’t gotten along, period. But now, after their truce, Murtagh wasn’t sure what was going through Eragon’s mind.

“Afternoon.”

Eragon gave a slight nod back.

A part of Murtagh wondered if perhaps Thorn had sent Eragon his way. He really hoped not. Enough people knew what was going on. If he couldn’t tell his shrink, then he couldn’t tell Eragon; as simple as that. And even if he did tell Angela, he wouldn’t tell Eragon. They would never get that close.

The silence seemed to go on forever. Murtagh looked over. Eragon hadn’t even moved an inch.

“You can sit down, you know.”

Eragon jumped a bit. He gave a small awkward smile. “You sure?”

Murtagh gave a slight smirk. “Wouldn’t have offered it if I hadn’t been.”

Eragon paused for a moment. Murtagh watched him visibly consider the pros and cons. Eventually, Eragon seemed to give himself a little nod and sat down on the other end of the bench. There was at least a metre between them.

The silence was a little less strained this time. Murtagh could almost feel the heat radiating off of the other.

“Are you ok?” Eragon asked suddenly.

Murtagh startled a bit. He looked at Eragon. He wondered what he looked like and if Eragon had notice him jolting.

The face that looked back at him was open and patient. Murtagh had never seen that look on Eragon’s face before. He had only seen the angry side of Eragon. Or, when he thought about it, perhaps passionate was better. This Eragon was very different from the ones Murtagh had encountered before.

Hell, he had talked to an awkward Eragon before, but this...Murtagh didn’t know how to react to him now.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he forced out.

The brunet frowned. “You don’t look fine.”

Murtagh blinked. Eragon was unusually blunt today.

Apparently Eragon thought so too, as he averted his eyes and blushed. “Sorry,” he muttered softly.

“...I’m not fine,” Murtagh found himself saying.

Eragon looked at him in shock.

His friends would be proud of him, Murtagh thought to himself. Here he was, actually opening up to someone that wasn’t his shrink. That it was Eragon he was talking to had to give him some bonus points.

“...I’m going through some stuff right now and...things are definitely not fine.” Murtagh felt his hands curl into tighter fists in his pockets.

“Um...” Eragon bit his lip. “Does Thorn know?”

Murtagh tipped his head back. He let out another sigh. “Yeah.”

“...Ok then.”

Murtagh looked over at the other. Eragon continued to do unexpected things. A part of him had expected Eragon to ask more questions, but apparently Eragon had learned his lesson.

Good. Murtagh really wasn’t in the mood for someone poking about in his business.

“...I hope things get better for you soon,” Eragon said. Murtagh actually found himself believing that Eragon meant it.

“I do too.”

\----

He was on his knees. There was a hand fisted into his hair. His arms were at his sides, his palms curled into fists. His hands were shaking badly. He was sure that if he bothered to check, then he would find that his whole body was shaking.

This had to be a dream. It had to be.

Then why did it feel so real?

His eyes were locked at the cock that was inches away from his face. It was already engorged and standing up proudly. It made him want to puke.

The hand tightened in his hair. Murtagh winced.

 _“What are you waiting for, boy? Suck,”_ the voice commanded.

Murtagh couldn’t move. This was a dream. He had to wake up. _Now_.

He felt several strands being pulled out when he was pulled forward by his hair. An unbidden sob rose up in his throat.

 _“I said now!”_ the voice growled.

His hands came up and braced themselves on the man’s still clothed thighs. Murtagh could feel his bottom lip shaking. There was bile at the back of his throat. He really was going to puke.

The hand started to tighten again. Murtagh bit back another sob, leaned forward and took the tip into his mouth.

The man moaned softly. Then hand pulled him closer, forcing more of the member to slide into his mouth. Murtagh started to feel his gag reflex acting up, but the man wasn’t stopping. Tears build up in his eyes and started to fall.

 _“That’s a good pet,”_ the man said.

_“I’m glad he is to your satisfaction,” a second voice said._

_The man chuckled. _“He has a good teacher.”__

_“Thank you.”_ There was more emotion in that voice than there had ever been when it had been directed at Murtagh.

Murtagh wanted to wake up. He didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to hear this. He had to wake up. He had to get away.

Another tug at his hair.

 _“Did I say you could stop?”_ the man growled. He thrust forward. Murtagh choked.

Laughter.

Murtagh woke up and threw up over the side of the bed.

\----

Murtagh knew he was in bad shape. He knew that if he didn’t do something, then he would break. He just didn’t know what to do.

Murtagh was scaring himself. He couldn’t look at the pills without considering to take a few too many. He didn’t let himself be around a knife for longer than necessary.

He was distancing himself. Winter had arrived and it was frigging cold outside. Murtagh told himself that was why he wasn’t seeing any of his friends. He told himself that he wasn’t avoiding them because he was afraid of what they’d say if they saw him. He told himself he wasn’t avoiding the outdoors because he was afraid of who he’d bump into. Oh no. It was just really cold outside. That was all.

He knew people at work were noticing his new behaviour. He wondered how long it would be before Thorn came and broke down his door to get to him. Murtagh felt a hysterical laugh build up in his chest. He killed it quickly. He wasn’t insane enough to be able to laugh in public just yet.

He looked up when he heard someone call his name. Oh, right. He was at the shrink. He got up slowly and walked over.

Murtagh didn’t bother to study the look on Angela’s face. He knew what he would see. Disgust, horror, pity. He needed none of those things right now.

“Murtagh...”

He simply sat down and stared out of the window. It was snowing softly – just like it had when he had arrived.

He felt more than he saw Angela sit down in her seat.

“Talk to me.”

“...I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Murtagh found himself saying before he could stop himself. “I’m so...tired.”

Angela sat up straighter. She looked very alarmed.

“The dreams, I can’t make them stop.” The words continued to flow out of his mouth. He couldn’t stop them. “I’m afraid to take the pills now because...I could take too many.”

“...” Angela pressed the button on her intercom. Murtagh vaguely wondered if she was going to ask for an ambulance that would send him to the hospital’s psych-ward.

_“Yes, Ms. Witch?”_

_Angela didn’t take her eyes off of Murtagh. “Has Mr. Rider arrived yet?”_

__“He just did,”_ the receptionist answered. _“Do you want me to reschedule?”__

“Not for him. Call his partner and have her come tomorrow instead. Send my deepest apologies to her. I need Mr. Rider for an emergency session.”

_“Very well, Ms. Witch. The usual room?”_

“Yes please, Clarissa.”

Murtagh blinked sluggishly. He was sure the conversation he had just overheard was supposed to have made sense, but it didn’t.

“Come on, Murtagh. I know you don’t like these things, but this time I insist.”

Murtagh allowed himself to be pulled up and into that horribly comfy room down the hall. He sat down in his usual seat and stared at the wall.

“Just stay there,” Angela said to him. “I will be right back.”

Murtagh didn’t feel like answering, so he didn’t.

He was dimly aware of Angela leaving. His brain was scrambling to make the connections, but it refuse to work properly. He just felt so tired. But he didn’t want to sleep. No. He couldn’t. He would just dream again. He didn’t want to dream.

“In here,” Angela said as she came back.

Murtagh looked over and saw her enter with Eragon. Eragon looked stumped, but didn’t struggle when Angela guided him over to the other chair. She whispered something to Eragon before sitting down in her little corner.

“...Hi, Murtagh.”

Murtagh tilted his head slightly. “Hello.”

Eragon looked worried too. He had seen a glimpse of that on Angela’s face earlier.

“...Are you ok?”

He felt a smirk enter his lips. “No.”

Eragon’s eyes widened.

“I am most definitely not ok,” Murtagh continued. A small part of him woke up and told him he didn’t know Eragon all that well. He had never considered telling Eragon anything. They weren’t close and would never be.

But somehow that part didn’t matter right now. He felt sluggish and it was easy to ignore that little voice.

“I’m having these dreams,” he said and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, nightmares really. Memories. Nightmares that are actually memories.”

That part of him hissed that he was usually more articulate than this. Murtagh ignored it.

“It has never really been a problem before,” he carried on and looked over at Eragon. Eragon still looked shocked. He clearly couldn’t believe Murtagh was being so open with him. Well, there was a part inside of Murtagh that felt the same.

“I’ve had nightmares on and off for...ten years. These kinds of nightmares, I mean. I’ve always had nightmares.” He was rambling. Murtagh didn’t ramble. It just wasn’t like him. “But these last ten years have been the worst.”

Eragon was deadly quiet. Murtagh briefly wondered if he was even breathing.

“But I guess that’s what you get when your father abuses you.”

Eragon’s eyes somehow managed to widen even more. Murtagh wanted to laugh. He almost looked...cute.

“But funnily enough,” as he spoke, Murtagh felt himself start to smile, “it’s not him that was the worst. Which is just...weird. He was the one that abused me the most, but somehow I can deal with remembering him. Now King,” for some reason, his smile only widened, “him I can’t deal with. He makes me break down every time.”

If Eragon’s eyes continued to widen, he was going to look like an owl, Murtagh decided.

“I have asked myself why many times. Is it because he’s alive and my father isn’t? Seems foolish, don’t you think?” Murtagh tilted his head. “Because apart from that, they did everything the same. Well, not everything. King didn’t push me down the stairs. That was just paps. But they both really loved raping me.”

The brunet came with a sort of choked sound, but Murtagh could easily ignore it.

“But then I start to think that maybe I’m fooling myself. Maybe I only think the rape dreams are worse because I haven’t dreamed about my father’s murder in a while. It’s not like I can determine what sort of nightmare I’m gonna have tonight, so I can’t really tell, no can I?” Murtagh blinked at Eragon. “You’re red in the face.”

Eragon was spluttering and stuttering. He was probably trying to say something, but Murtagh couldn’t be sure.

“My dad was red in the face when I killed him.”

And then Eragon’s face lost all colouring. Murtagh squinted. Yup, it even looked like his lips had turned white.

“Then he did that. Turned white, I mean. But hey, he died, so that’s sort of a given,” Murtagh shrugged.

Eragon looked like he wanted to run. But hey, at least he was silent again. The spluttering had annoyed him a bit.

“But in my defence, he tried to kill me first. And raped me. And beat me. And sold me to his friends. I should so have gotten a lighter sentence for that.”

The brunet came with a sort of strangled whine, but Murtagh ignored that too.

“But I didn’t really feel like talking. And I didn’t think anyone would believe me. I mean, I was a kid, he was...Morzan, and there was no way Morzan was hitting and raping his kid, right? So no one would have believed me. So I didn’t talk.”

Murtagh tilted his head again. “You’re not really blinking. And also, I’m rambling. I don’t ramble. I am wondering why I feel like this.”

Eragon opened his mouth, but closed it again just as quickly.

“I mean, King showing up and threatening me didn’t really help a lot,” Murtagh gave a hysterical giggle. “I told him to shove it, you know. Me. He’s so going to kill me for that.”

He opened his mouth, but closed it yet again. Murtagh wondered if Eragon maybe was having problems breathing, because he really didn’t look like he was doing that either.

“But, hey, kill. What date is it?” Eragon didn’t answer. Murtagh looked over at Angela. “The date?”

“...The ninth of December. Murtagh -”

“Heh. That explains the sluggishness and why my pills look really inviting,” Murtagh smiled. “It’s my dad’s anniversary. Happy death day, dad!”

Angela stood slowly and walked over to them. She whispered something else to Eragon.

The brunet looked up at her sharply. He looked over at Murtagh, then back at her again. He nodded and got up.

Murtagh watched him leave. “I rambled to him,” he said once Eragon was gone.

Angela put a hand on his shoulder. “Murtagh. You are not feeling well.”

“I could have told you that.” For a shrink, she wasn’t always that smart, Murtagh concluded.

Angela bit her lip. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Sleep? I’m not sleeping tonight. Anniversary and all. I might try to kill myself again,” Murtagh said and smiled at her.

Angela closed her eyes. She looked like she had a headache. Murtagh briefly wondered where that had come from.

“When was the last time you slept?” she repeated.

Murtagh thought about it. He hadn’t slept after that last nightmare with his father and Galbatorix _having fun_ with him. And that was...

“Three days ago,” Murtagh decided. “I had a bad dream about King and my dad. I don’t like the dreams when they share me. I really don’t like puking afterwards either.”

Angela’s eyes widened in alarm. “Murtagh! You have to sleep! It’s the brain’s way of rebooting itself.”

“My brain’s not a computer.” Seriously, what did Angela think about the brain? Wasn’t she supposed to know these things, being a shrink and all that?

“It needs to rest, Murtagh. _You_ need to rest. You have to sleep.”

“I don’t sleep on the anniversary of my father’s death,” Murtagh repeated. “Especially not if there are sharp objects nearby. Or pills. Or cords.”

Angela put a hand gently over her mouth. She looked at the wall for a while.

Murtagh looked behind himself and looked at the wall. There was nothing fascinating about it. He wondered why she was staring so hard at it.

“Wait here,” she said and left him again.

Murtagh looked up at the ceiling again. There was a crack in the paint. Cool. He could stare at that for a while.

\----

Murtagh blinked at the two in front of him. Angela had come back earlier with her coat and car keys and had proceeded to drive him to Tornac’s place.

He wasn’t sure why Angela knew where Tornac lived. He didn’t really want to think about that now.

“He really needs someone tonight, Tornac.”

Murtagh shook his head. What? He must have missed out a lot, because he had no idea what was going on.

“Of course,” Tornac said and ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair.

Murtagh frowned. Tornac’s hand shouldn’t be shaking. The last time it had been like that Tornac had been ill with cancer. But the cancer was gone and he was supposed to be fine.

Angela said something else, but Murtagh couldn’t hear it. Didn’t they know whispering was rude?

He watched them say goodbye. After Angela left, there was a long silence.

Murtagh remembered something then. He was avoiding people. Oh. Right. He wasn’t supposed to be there with Tornac, because Tornac was people.

He blinked owlishly when Tornac sat down beside him. Tornac was frowning. He got a lot of wrinkles when he did that. Murtagh felt like smiling.

“Why didn’t you come to me, Murtagh?” Tornac whispered.

He blinked again. Huh? What had he missed?

Something crossed over Tornac’s face, but Murtagh was too sluggish to catch it. “Angela said you haven’t slept in three days because of nightmares, Murtagh. Why didn’t you come to talk to me?”

Oh. That.

“Because I can handle it. I’m handling it. I’m not fine, but I can handle it,” he smiled.

Tornac put a hand on his cheek. “Son, you’re rambling.”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing that a lot. I don’t know why. I don’t like it.”

Tornac’s face tightened in pain. “Come on. I know it’s early, but you need to rest.”

Murtagh blinked. Rest? No, he wasn’t tired. He was just sluggish. It would pass.

“Come on.” Tornac got up and pulled him out of his seat. Murtagh tried to resist, but found that he couldn’t. Huh. Since when was Tornac stronger than him?

“Come on, kiddo.”

Murtagh found himself blinking at where Tornac was grabbing onto his arm. Was he supposed to feel that? Because he wasn’t. Murtagh was stronger than Tornac, so Tornac had to be using force to pull him along so easily.

Murtagh didn’t like using force. Force meant pain, and he didn’t like pain.

He blinked when Tornac stopped. It was a room. He hadn’t been inside this room before. Was it new? It didn’t look new.

Tornac gently pulled him over to the bed. “Come on.” He pulled off Murtagh’s sweatshirt.

Murtagh was confused. Why was Tornac undressing him? That only happened before bed time and before sex. It was too early for bed time and Tornac wasn’t interested in him that way. Besides, Murtagh didn’t like sex. Sex was painful and unnecessary.

Tornac started to undo his belt and Murtagh jumped. “No.”

The blond sighed. “I just want you to sleep, Murtagh.”

Murtagh shook his head. “No.”

Tornac frowned. He reached out, but Murtagh jumped away from him again. Murtagh liked to keep his clothes on. Clothes were protection. Unless they were gloves. Gloves were bad and Murtagh didn’t them.

The older man chased him around the room until he managed to tackle Murtagh onto the bed.

Murtagh felt his heart start to pound in his chest. No, not Tornac. Tornac wouldn’t do this! Tornac loved him too much to do this to him!

Tornac somehow managed to pull off Murtagh’s pants. Murtagh was shaking and sweating. He didn’t want this. He wanted his Tornac. He wanted the Tornac that wasn’t going to hurt him.

Murtagh froze when Tornac simply pulled the covers over him. “There. Was that really so hard?”

He blinked. He was...on a bed. He still had his t-shirt and boxers. Tornac wasn’t trying to have sex with him.

“Now, I just want you to lie down and close your eyes. You don’t have to sleep, just rest, ok?”

But Murtagh didn’t want to rest. He didn’t need to. He felt fine.

Well, not _fine_. He was emotionally unstable, but that was fine. He would be fine.

“I will be right back,” Tornac promised and left the room.

Murtagh blinked after him. He looked down at himself. He was tucked in. No one had tucked him in since his mom had died.

Murtagh slowly pulled out his arms and pulled the blanket higher. He turned onto his side and curled into a foetal position. Ok, maybe he was a bit tired. His eyes felt a little heavy. But he was fine. He didn’t need to sleep.

He was vaguely aware of Tornac coming back, but he was too heavy to turn over and look. His eyes were dropping shut.

“That’s better,” Tornac said and ran a hand through his hair.

That felt nice. Murtagh liked that.

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you need me,” Tornac promised.

Murtagh slept.

\----

That night had been excruciating. Murtagh really felt for Tornac.

The older man had stuck to his word and had been there every time Murtagh woke up and started to hurl. He had been there with a bucket, a warm cloth and something to drink. There was a box of salty crackers on the nightstand, but Murtagh hadn’t even looked at them after Tornac had pointed them out. Honestly; like he could eat now.

He had no idea how many times he had woken up during the night. It must have been a dozen. Murtagh really wondered where Tornac had found the energy to stay up with him and take care of him.

After a long night filled with nightmare after nightmare featuring his father, Murtagh had finally managed to properly fall asleep sometime in the early morning hours. He couldn’t remember what the time had been, but it had felt early.

The next time he woke up it a little after nine in the morning. Murtagh was shocked to realise he felt awake and coherent, not to mention rested.

Next he noticed that he wasn’t alone in bed. There was an arm around his middle and soft breathing fanning over the back of his neck. Murtagh looked over his shoulder and found himself looking at Tornac.

He was both surprised and not. This was Tornac’s house, after all. But Tornac had never slept with him before.

Murtagh felt something stab inside his chest. His eyes suddenly felt very wet.

He turned over and lay down so he faced Tornac. The older man looked really tired. Murtagh felt instantly guilty about having caused his friend to have such a restless night. He had probably worried Tornac sick.

He suddenly remembered what had brought him to Tornac in the first place. Murtagh winced. Oh Jesus fuck. What had he been thinking? Three days without sleep? It was a wonder he hadn’t acted crazier.

Poor Angela and Eragon. Murtagh really didn’t want to know what they thought about him now.

His eyes widened suddenly. Oh no. Eragon. He had blabbed everything to Eragon; absolutely everything. **Fuck**. How was he going to stop Eragon from telling Thorn everything he had said? Murtagh couldn’t be sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he had mentioned something to Eragon about feeling suicidal.

Shit, fuck and damn. He was never going to live this one down.

Had he done this earlier, Murtagh realised, then he would definitely have driven Eragon away and had felt good about it. Now he just felt embarrassed and horribly guilty.

“Stop it.”

Murtagh jumped. He looked back and relaxed slightly when two amused grey orbs stared back at him.

“Whatever you were thinking – don’t. Everything is going to be alright.”

Murtagh sighed. “You didn’t hear the things I said to Eragon.”

Tornac gave a soft chuckle. “No, but Angela told me the gist of it. You really picked a fine time to come clean, son. About everything.”

He winced again. Wasn’t that the truth?

“I just...I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Mm. That’s what happens when you’re sleep-deprived. You go a little loopy,” Tornac said amusedly, though there was a hard edge in his eyes. “Don’t ever do that to me again, son.”

Murtagh let out a loaded breath. “I’ll try not to.”

Tornac rolled his eyes. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get out of you.”

Murtagh watched Tornac get up and out of bed. He winced a bit when Tornac stretched and something cracked into place in his back.

“This isn’t the best of beds, I’m afraid, but I didn’t want to leave you.”

Murtagh sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Thanks about that, by the way.”

Tornac smiled. “You’re like a son to me, Murtagh. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Tornac left him to get dressed. Murtagh met him in the kitchen after slipping into his jeans and grabbing his sweatshirt.

“You should consider yourself lucky I didn’t have classes these two days,” Tornac said humorously.

“Yeah,” Murtagh said and accepted the glass of juice Tornac had poured for him. Then what the blond had said hit home. “Two days?”

“Oh yes,” he said and sat down. Murtagh numbly followed his example. “Once you fell properly asleep around five a.m. or so, you just wouldn’t wake up. I didn’t have the heart to wake you once you seemed to actually sleep peacefully. Its Friday now, Murtagh, not Thursday.”

Murtagh blinked. He had slept for close to thirty hours?!

“You tossed and turned a few times, even cried out. That’s when I crawled into bed with you. As I suspected, another warm body helped you relax,” Tornac said and winked at him, though there was still a serious undertone in his voice.

Murtagh was speechless. He had slept for thirty hours and he couldn’t remember having any bad dreams afterwards. It was a miracle.

“Now we just need to find a way to write the personal ad without making it sound like you’re looking for a lover.”

Murtagh blinked. Say what?

“Now that I have finally proven my theory, I plan to find a bed mate for you,” Tornac told him with an amused smile. “I just need to find a way to make bed mate not sound sexual.”

“...No. No freaking way.”

Tornac just laughed.

\----

Murtagh closed the door behind himself and leaned against it. He closed his eyes and cursed.

After eating a breakfast large enough to feed a small army, Tornac had finally agreed to let him go home. After promising to call Tornac the next time things got rough, Tornac had let him get out of the car and driven home.

Now that he was home, Murtagh was torn. He had screwed up big time. Eragon didn’t know him at all, and Murtagh had confided in him much more than was strictly necessary. He had probably scarred the kid for life.

Murtagh took off his boots and jacket and walked into the living room. He ran a hand through his hair and winced at the greasiness. He needed to shower.

After a long and satisfying shower, Murtagh sat down on his couch and stared at his phone. He knew he needed to talk to Eragon. He needed to explain a few things and, dear God, apologise. No one deserved to be ambushed like Eragon had been.

But there was a problem. Murtagh didn’t have Eragon’s number and he didn’t know anything about the brunet. There was just no way for him to track Eragon down.

He rubbed his hands over his face. This was seriously fucked up.

Too bad he couldn’t ask Thorn for help. Thorn would want to know why he was seeking Eragon out, and Murtagh was not about to tell him that. So he was stuck.

Murtagh checked the time. It was just after one o’clock. He could check the college, but it would most likely lead nowhere.

He cursed again and got up. He was out of the door before he could change his mind.

\----

The walk to the college calmed his nerves and made him more nervous all at once. He had no idea how to approach the subject with Eragon. He couldn’t just apologise and leave. He knew that would only do more harm than good.

Of course, it was very unlikely that Eragon would even be at the school, but Murtagh had to consider the possibility that he was as well. Hence he wasn’t allowed to turn around and walk back just yet.

Murtagh stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and stared at the college from his place across the street. Some classes had just been let out and students were hurrying out of the building. Most of them were heading for the parking lot, but a few sorry students were heading for the bus stop. Murtagh felt for them. It was freezing, but keeping in motion made it somewhat bearable. Standing around had to be painful, though.

He almost couldn’t believe his luck when he saw a very familiar brunet walk towards the bus stop. It had to be him. The jacket looked like the one Eragon had worn when he had approached him in the park a couple of weeks ago.

Murtagh crossed the street carefully and headed towards the bus stop. The brunet that looked like Eragon was walking the same way. Murtagh would be able to intercept him before he got to the shed.

“Eragon,” he called out, though not too loudly just in case.

The brunet jolted and looked over. It was indeed Eragon. His eyes widened and he paled a bit.

Murtagh felt his lips grow thin. Oh yeah, he had scared the kid alright.

“Can I talk to you?” he said as he walked over. Eragon had stopped walking the second he had seen Murtagh.

Eragon’s eyes were flickering; from the bus stop to the school and back to Murtagh. It was clear he’d rather be anywhere than with Murtagh right now.

“You don’t have to,” Murtagh said and Eragon startled. “I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour on Wednesday. I...hadn’t been sleeping well,” he explained. Murtagh felt quite pathetic. He just wanted to walk away and forget about doing this. “I’m sorry you had to be there and see me break down.”

Eragon’s eyes flickered again; behind Murtagh, at the sky, at the ground, at Murtagh’s throat.

“...Are you better now?” Eragon asked very quietly. Murtagh almost had to strain himself to hear what he had said.

“I am. I’m not fine, but I’m better.”

Eragon’s gaze met his briefly. “That’s good.”

Murtagh flexed his fingers inside of his pockets. The silence between them seemed strained, but he didn’t know what else to say.

It was hard to say what Eragon was to him now. They certainly weren’t friends, but the younger male knew more things than most of his other acquaintances. He knew, without having gotten any of the gory details, about the same as Thorn did. A part of them were tied together, but as people they weren’t tied together at all. Eragon was a complete stranger.

“I’m sorry again,” Murtagh said and walked away.

Eragon might know some of his deepest and darkest secrets, but that didn’t change anything. They weren’t friends and they never would be.

\----

“You’ve been acting different lately.”

Murtagh looked at Thorn. He crocked an eyebrow.

“You’re more subdued,” Thorn continued. “Did something happen?”

Thorn had come to his apartment earlier and insisted that Murtagh help him pick out Christmas gifts. Murtagh hadn’t even been given an opportunity to object as Thorn had practically dragged him out of the door.

Two hours later and with half of the gifts on Thorn’s list crossed off, they were sitting in a quiet café across from the mall. And it was there Thorn apparently felt a need to take up whatever issue was troubling him.

Murtagh had two choices; either he told the bare minimum of the truth or he lied. He didn’t know which option was the best.

“I...I went through some things last week,” Murtagh heard himself say.

Thorn instantly looked worried.

“It was bad. I broke down and Tornac had to take care of me for a couple of days.”

“Murtagh.”

“I’m better now,” he said quickly. “But last week was hell.”

“What happened?” Thorn asked quietly.

“I had a nightmare.” Murtagh felt his lips curl into something that might have been a smirk, but it felt different. “I know, what else is new?” He shrugged and looked out of the window. It was snowing again. “I just couldn’t deal with sleeping afterwards.”

“Murtagh.” Thorn sounded reproachful now.

“Three days went by.”

Thorn choked and spluttered.

“Then I had an appointment with Angela,” he continued. “She was stupid enough to bring in Eragon. I scared the shit out of the kid. Then she took me to Tornac who took care of me for two days. I slept for about thirty hours before I actually felt sane again.”

“...You stupid idiot.”

Murtagh shrugged and took a sip of his tea. He hadn’t felt like having coffee earlier.

Thorn opened and closed his mouth. It wasn’t often Murtagh had seen him look uncertain of what to say. Usually he’d just spit it out.

“I have talked to Eragon afterwards,” he said. It was most likely what Thorn was trying to ask in an eloquent fashion and was failing. “I apologised, even. But after all the crap I spewed out, I really doubt he’ll want to see me anymore. Not that I care.”

Thorn wetted his lips. “What did you tell him?”

“Everything, just without any explicit details.”

Thorn swore under his breath.

Murtagh continued to look out of the window. He hadn’t really bothered to care last Christmas. He had exchanged a gift with Tornac and spent the evening with him, but that had been it. It had also been very weird. Murtagh hadn’t spent Christmas Eve with anyone since he had gone to prison.

Thorn had been in his life last Christmas, but he had kept his distance a bit. Murtagh had appreciated that. While they had been good friends as kids, Thorn had understood that Murtagh was a different man now and hadn’t rushed back into their friendship. By the time they felt more like friends, it had been February.

It was different this year. He had already been invited to Thorn and Saphira’s Christmas party, though Murtagh doubted he’d go. Since Eragon was Saphira’s adopted brother, Murtagh just knew he would be there. He didn’t feel like fucking up their Christmas with his issues. Even if that meant spending Christmas Eve alone because Tornac would be there, then so be it.

“What did he say?”

Thorn’s voice penetrated his thoughts. Murtagh looked at him.

“Eragon,” Thorn clarified. “What did he say?”

“He asked if I felt better.”

Thorn blinked. “...That’s it?”

“Yes.”

He blinked again.

“I left afterwards,” Murtagh said and put down his tea. “He looked like he wanted to be far away from me, so I granted his wish.”

Thorn sighed. “I -”

“You cannot be serious,” Murtagh interrupted.

“I am,” Thorn said and put down his cup. “You should talk to him.”

Murtagh shook his head. Couldn’t Thorn understand that Murtagh and Eragon wanted nothing to do with each other?

“He’s probably very confused right now. If you could just explain -”

“Explain my abuse to him?” Murtagh hissed. “I bloody well think not.”

“Of course not,” Thorn said and ran his hands through his hair. “Just explain the situation or something.”

“No thank you. I explained it well enough last week.”

“Murtagh -”

“The answer is no,” Murtagh said firmly.

Thorn leaned back and looked at him. Murtagh stared right back.

A minute or so later, Thorn sighed and visibly deflated. “Fine. I think you’re doing the wrong thing, but fine. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Someone’s playing a new tune,” Murtagh drawled.

Thorn crocked an eyebrow. “You needed a few good kicks in the ass and you know it. I’ve realised that you have come a long way and are finally able to make some good decisions.” He paused. “And some bad ones.”

“I wouldn’t be human otherwise,” Murtagh said plainly.

“True. Very true.”

\----

It was almost Christmas. The merry tunes coming out of his radio was really starting to annoy him. If he heard “Last Christmas” one more time, he’d throw the radio into the wall.

Murtagh shook his head and put the last gift in the plastic bag. He had gotten them when he had been out shopping for Thorn’s birthday, which was thankfully after Christmas. He didn’t have a lot of people to buy for – just Thorn, Saphira and Tornac. Murtagh felt a bit weird about buying something for Saphira when they weren’t very close, but since she was now married to Thorn, it was the least he could do.

Murtagh put the bag in his bedroom and started to clean up his mess. Apparently he hadn’t gotten any better at wrapping gifts while he had been in jail. He had used up about half of the scotch tape, nearly cut off a couple of fingers when he cut the wrapping paper and had been ready to throw the damn ribbon out of the window because it refused to untangle. But now, nearly an hour later, he was finally finished.

He sat down and stared at the TV. It was a broadcast reminding him of all the jolly movies this channel would be sending until New Years.

Murtagh was suddenly reminded that he hadn’t told Thorn and Saphira whether he’d make it to their party or not. He wanted to curse. Because of his silence, they were probably expecting him to come. Murtagh wasn’t sure if going was such a good idea.

It had been almost two weeks and he hadn’t heard from Eragon. Just as expected, he thought to himself. After everything he had said, it was no wonder Eragon didn’t want anything to do with him. Hell, Eragon was probably disgusted by him.

After watching some random show for a few minutes, Murtagh got up. He was starting to get hungry. Time to start preparing for dinner.

He was only able to take a step in the direction of the kitchen when someone knocked on his door.

Murtagh felt fear grip his heart and squeeze tightly. His hands started to shake.

No, it couldn’t be King. King had better things to do three days before Christmas Eve. He couldn’t possibly be here now to harass Murtagh.

The knock sounded again. Was it Murtagh’s imagination or did it sound almost...hesitant?

Murtagh slowly walked over to the door. His hand reached out and grabbed the doorknob. It was still shaking a bit. He took a deep breath and forced himself to open his door.

Murtagh paused. What the...?

“...Uh...hi. Can I come in?”


	10. Strychnine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new character is introduced in this chapter, though the character in question is only a pet.

Murtagh stared at Eragon. What the hell was he doing there?

When he couldn’t come up with any possible answer, he voiced his thoughts out loud. “Why are you here?”

Eragon swallowed and looked away. “I-I don’t...” he trailed off.

Murtagh leaned against the door frame. Eragon truly looked uncomfortable. It was hard to believe he had gone of his own free will, let alone gone at all.

“...Saphira made me.”

Now that Murtagh believed.

“She’s...” Eragon cleared his throat awkwardly. “She’s watching me right now. She told me she’d wait for me until I finished talking to you.”

“...She’s diabolical.”

“She’s pregnant,” Eragon muttered.

“Same thing.”

Eragon looked up at him. He looked stunned.

Murtagh was stunned himself. Had he just cracked a joke?

Eragon bit his lip and looked away, but there was a slight smiled on his lips.

“...I guess you better come in, then.” Murtagh held the door more open.

Eragon looked shocked for a few seconds, then he looked down again and slipped past him. Murtagh closed the door, but not before catching sight of an obviously pregnant female hiding by the stairway.

Murtagh ran a hand through his hair and turned around.

Eragon was leaning against the wall beside Murtagh’s jackets. He looked suitably uncomfortable. It didn’t look like he planned on staying long. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes.

Murtagh walked past him and back into the living room. Eragon didn’t follow him.

Murtagh sat on his couch for a couple of minutes before he started to wonder whether Eragon had actually left.

“Are you going to stay in there all day?” Murtagh called out.

There was a pause, then some light shuffling. Eragon padded inside a few seconds later sans jacket and boots. He was wringing his scarf between his hands.

“You can sit,” he said when a minute passed and Eragon failed to make a move to do anything except wring his scarf even more.

Eragon paused, then slowly made his way towards the couch. He sat down equally slowly. There was a good distance between them.

“Why did Saphira make you come here?”

The brunet bit his lip again. He didn’t talk for at least two minutes. “Ever since...Ever since that session, I...I – there are – I can’t,” Eragon bit his lip again and stared hard at his hands.

Murtagh had a feeling he knew what Eragon was trying to say. He wasn’t so sure he liked it.

“You have questions.” Murtagh was proud of himself for sounding vaguely casual.

Eragon looked at him guiltily. He nodded. “I didn’t want to have them, I know I shouldn’t have them, but...I can’t help it.”

“You’re curious. I’ve learned that much,” Murtagh said plainly.

Eragon blushed.

Murtagh looked down at his hands. He really didn’t want to tell Eragon anything. He still felt bad about talking in the first place. If he said anything more, he might give the kid nightmares. It was enough that Murtagh had them.

But he knew he owed the kid some answers.

“...You can ask me some questions, but I won’t answer any I feel uncomfortable with.”

He could feel Eragon’s stare, but he didn’t meet the other’s gaze.

“You really don’t have to,” Eragon whispered.

Murtagh snuck a look. Eragon was worrying his bottom lip again.

“I owe you a few answers, and I’ll give you such.”

Eragon stopped wringing his scarf with his hands and started pulling at his sleeves. It was another couple of minutes before he spoke.

“You said...” he trailed off and gulped. “You said you killed...” his voice died away.

“It’s true,” Murtagh said softly. “I killed my father. That is why I was in prison.”

Eragon looked really pale now. He tugged hard at his right sleeve. “You said it was because he abused you,” he whispered.

“That’s not exactly true,” Murtagh answered. 

Eragon looked up sharply.

“It’s true that he had been abusing me for years, but I didn’t kill him because of that.” Murtagh felt his hands grip each other tightly. His knuckles were turning white. “That night...” he cleared his throat. “The night it happened, I had just told him I was going away for college. He didn’t like that. He came at me with a knife, screaming that I wasn’t going to leave him unless it was in a pine box. It was pure luck that it was him that ended up in a box and not me. It was self-defence.”

Eragon was silent for a long time. Murtagh used this time to evaluate what he had said.

Everything was true, but it felt weird to admit it. It had been self-defence. Admitting it didn’t make him feel any different. It was just another fact about his fucked up life.

“Then why did you go to jail?” the brunet whispered.

“It was a trying time for me. I didn’t think anyone would believe me if I said my father threatened to kill me and I turned the knife on him.” Murtagh rubbed his right thumb over his left. He rubbed it hard enough to hurt.

“...That’s bullshit,” Eragon said sharply.

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow at him.

Eragon blushed. “You went to prison for something that wasn’t your fault. That’s stupid.”

Murtagh just shrugged.

Eragon fell silent again. Murtagh stared at the clock and watched the seconds slowly pass by.

Eragon said something then, but it was too inaudible. Murtagh looked at him again. Eragon’s face was ashen once again.

“Can you repeat that?”

Eragon swallowed harshly. “...Did he really rape you?”

Murtagh gave a single nod. 

Eragon’s pale face turned green. “Oh God,” he breathed.

Murtagh looked down.

“Then the other is true too?” Eragon said, a bit more loudly this time. “Some other guy raped you too?”

Murtagh apparently had forgotten to mention that it had been Morzan’s entire posse, not just two men. That was probably best. He gave another nod.

Eragon looked ready to puke.

“And he really has visited you?”

Murtagh felt his heart start to beat faster just from thinking about it. His hands started to sweat.

“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eragon fell silent again.

Murtagh rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. His eyes were fixed on the repeated movement.

“Please tell me someone knows,” Eragon said so suddenly that Murtagh actually jolted a bit. 

Murtagh looked at him. Eragon still looked a little green, but there was something in his eyes. Murtagh couldn’t interpret what it was.

“...Thorn knows.”

Eragon’s mouth tightened. “Thorn seems to know a lot of things,” he said and shifted. “I’m starting to wonder if that’s just a line you’re giving me.”

Murtagh felt something start to build up in his chest. “I’m not lying.”

“Then why isn’t Thorn a permanent resident on your couch?” Eragon said and shook his head. “I don’t think he knows -”

“What?” Murtagh barked. Eragon jolted and looked at him with a hint of fear in his eyes. “What is it you think he doesn’t know? Enough? Oh, believe me, he knows enough,” he spat. “He knows how my old man used to pass me around like some whore when I was only fifteen years old!”

His scream was followed by silence. 

Murtagh took a few deep breaths. “He knows about King. He was there when King came to see me.”

“...You told him it was nothing, didn’t you?” Eragon said like it all suddenly made sense.

“He knows it’s not nothing, so if I did, he wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Then why are you here all alone, looking half-scared to death?”

Murtagh didn’t answer.

Eragon pressed on. “It’s that thing again, isn’t it? You don’t want to be burden.”

“Eragon,” Murtagh said firmly. “Drop it.”

“No.” Eragon looked committed now. Murtagh started to wonder if he had made a mistake when he apologised to Eragon. Everything seemed better than having a determined Eragon on his case. 

When he opened his mouth to speak again, Murtagh cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about this. Please.”

Eragon looked away. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. He opened them again and looked back. “You’re stupid, you know.”

“I know.”

Eragon just shook his head and got up. “You’re not supposed to agree.”

Murtagh just shrugged.

Eragon tugged on his scarf. “...I don’t want to worry about you, Murtagh.”

He could only blink. What was that supposed to mean? And why did hearing it hurt?

“But I do,” the brunet continued. “I hardly know you, and I worry so fucking much.”

Murtagh blinked again. That was the first time he had heard Eragon swear. He seemed like the type that didn’t swear often.

“There’s just something about you.” Eragon bit his lip and looked away. “...Be careful, alright?”

Murtagh was stunned. He could only watch Eragon walk away. He heard him put on his shoes and his coat. The door gave a soft squeak as it shut.

Then there was only silence.

-:-

Christmas carols were playing softly in the bar. Murtagh tried his best to ignore them as he uncapped the twentieth holiday beer of the day. He handed the glass over to the customer and put the bottle with the others for recycling.

It was the day before Christmas Eve and Murtagh still hadn’t given his answer to Thorn and Saphira. A part of him desperately didn’t want to go, even though he had sort of fixed things with Eragon. Murtagh did not do well in crowds. It didn’t matter that he knew the people around him; it still felt like he was suffocating.

But another part of him didn’t want to disappoint them. He knew they wanted him there.

The door was opened and a gush of chilled winter air slipped inside before it could be closed. Murtagh looked up out of habit. He always looked over to see who entered now. His panicked mind forced him. 

Murtagh was surprised when he recognised the man standing in the doorway. It was Shruikan and he was alone. 

Shruikan looked over and met his gaze. Murtagh watched him walk over.

“We need to talk.”

Murtagh blinked. They hadn’t really talked, not even at the wedding. Shruikan reminded Murtagh of himself; closed off and somewhat antisocial. He had to wonder why Shruikan suddenly wanted to talk.

“...My shift ends in ten minutes. Can you wait?”

Shruikan nodded. He found a booth and sat down.

Murtagh looked over frequently as his shift slowly came to a close. He nodded to Orrin when he came to take over. He only took off his apron and went to get his things.

“You’re not leaving?” Orrin remarked when he walked back into the bar instead of walking out back like he usually did.

“Maybe,” Murtagh said and headed over to Shruikan. He had no idea if Shruikan wanted to talk here or somewhere else.

Shruikan stood. “Let’s take a walk.”

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow. Shruikan didn’t want them to be overheard?

The other man walked out first. Murtagh put on his jacket and zipped it up before stepping out into the December air. The wind wasn’t biting as it had been earlier. Murtagh looped his scarf around his neck and stuffed his hands quickly into his pockets. He still couldn’t wear gloves.

Shruikan started to head deeper into the city. Murtagh walked beside him. 

Next to Shruikan, Murtagh had to admit that he felt a little like a dwarf. He had gotten used to the height difference between him and Thorn, but Shruikan was even taller than Thorn. 

Five minutes passed without Shruikan saying a word. Murtagh wondered if Shruikan planned to talk at all during the walk or if he was being lead somewhere where they could talk.

“You know the senator,” Shruikan said so suddenly that Murtagh jolted a bit.

It took a minute for the words to register in Murtagh’s mind. He stiffened when they did. His mouth dried up. It became hard to swallow. “So?”

“You know him like I know him.” Shruikan looked at him. His face was void of emotion, though there was a slight glimmer in his eyes that Murtagh recognised. It was the same one Tornac got whenever Galbatorix or Morzan came up.

Murtagh registered the shock next. He wasn’t the only one?

“There have been others before and after me,” Shruikan continued. “I only know the identity of four others, but I know there are more out there.”

There were others? How many lives had Galbatorix helped wreck?

“One moved to Surda to get away.” His gaze was fixed on something in the distance, though Murtagh didn’t know what that was. “A sibling pair moved across the seas. One took his own life.”

Murtagh felt nausea start to pool up in his chest. 

“They were all young when it happened.” Shruikan looked at him briefly. “I was thirteen, but one of them was eleven when it began.”

The bile rose up and made Murtagh want to puke. His tongue felt thick and heavy.

“I ran off when I finished high school. I never heard from my foster parents or him again.”

Shruikan took a right and led them into the park. There were a couple of kids running around near the frozen lake. A couple of others were building a fort. Shruikan steered clear of them and walked down one of the frozen paths.

“We all had something in common,” the older man continued after a few minutes of silence. His voice was devoid of any emotion, though it seemed tighter now. “We were all certain he would come after us. The one who killed himself...he only ran away because he was certain they would continue to torture him if he died near them.”

Murtagh stopped next to a bench and gripped the back of it. His hands stung from the cold and the frozen wood, but he ignored it. 

There were others. It made so much sense that Murtagh was ashamed of himself for not having thought of it before. He wasn’t special. He had just been the flavour of the month. 

“I haven’t heard of him actually going after someone. Then you came along.”

Murtagh closed his eyes and tried not to gag. No. He wasn’t special. He couldn’t be special.

Shruikan stood beside him. Murtagh felt his presence, but he couldn’t actually see him. He stared down at his pale and shaking hands.

“How do you know all this?” he whispered.

Murtagh saw Shruikan lean his back against the bench. He was only centimetres away from Murtagh’s hands. He felt a desperate need to put more distance between them.

“I’m a doctor,” Shruikan said then. “I took my exams here, but I did my practice in Dras Leona. I met them there. I was on duty when that kid was rushed into the hospital. He died in my arms.” 

The taste of bile was getting overwhelming. Murtagh swallowed what he could and spat the rest on the ground. It didn’t help.

“Then aren’t you breaking some sort of confidentiality?” Murtagh forced out. He’d rather talk about them than himself. He didn’t want Shruikan to start asking any questions.

“They are all former patients of mine, and I’m not disclosing any names. I know the rules.”

Murtagh couldn’t stay here. He needed to get away.

When Shruikan didn’t speak again, he pushed away from the bench and started to walk. Shruikan fell into step beside him.

“If you want to talk, I will listen.”

He felt like laughing. It seemed like everyone said that to him. Murtagh was sick of talking. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. 

“No thank you,” Murtagh said softly. If he spoke louder, he was afraid of what he would sound like.

Shruikan grunted, but didn’t verbally comment.

They walked in a circle around the park. The only sounds around them were made by someone else; the wind, laughing children, a scolding parent or cars driving nearby. 

“How can you talk about it so easily?”

Murtagh wasn’t aware of having spoken until Shruikan stopped and looked at him. Suddenly he realised that it had been him uttering those words.

“I have treated people, children and adults alike, that have been through similar ordeals. It helps to show them that the trauma doesn’t have to be the end of life as they know it,” he said sombrely. “Not everyone opens up to me in return, but a few have.” He looked out towards the children playing. “It’s never easy, but it can get easier. If it will help someone see that they can get through the pain, then I will gladly tell them about how I did it.”

Murtagh looked away. The wind flew by and made his cheeks sting. He felt Shruikan’s presence beside him.

“How are you coping?”

Murtagh closed his eyes. “I’m not.”

-:-

It was a long time since he had last been inside a church. Murtagh supposed he could have been in one for a field trip back in school, but the only concrete memory he had of a church was his mother’s funeral. He had only been three years old, but he still remembered it clearly.

His mother’s coffin, the priest’s soothing voice carrying through the room, soft sobbing from someone sitting behind him. Murtagh remembered his father sitting beside him, back stiff and tense, his hands clasped around the flyer with his mother’s name on it. 

He had been surprised when Shruikan had led him across the street and into the church Murtagh had gazed upon more than once. The interior was less than impressive, but it felt comfortable nonetheless. There were dark wooden benches, dark wood walls and a blue carpet over stone flooring. Somewhere there had to be heaters, because the room was noticeably warmer than the air outside.

Shruikan led him over to the benches and sat down. Murtagh sat down beside him. As he looked around, he saw that they appeared to be the only ones there.

There was a statue of Jesus in the front of the church. The priest’s alcove was to the right. A bench separated the altar and the statue from the rest of the room.

“I’m not religious,” Murtagh found himself saying.

Shruikan let out a soft sound. Murtagh was startled to realise that it had been a chuckle.

“I’m not particularly religious either. I believe that there was once a man named Jesus and that he preached the word of God. But if he truly was God’s son in that holy sense or if he was just one of God’s children like the rest of us, I don’t know. If God exists, then so be it. For now I’m content to believe that whatever happens will happen for its own reasons.” 

Murtagh had to stare at him. Shruikan looked over with a quirked eyebrow.

“It does not mean I like the things I’ve been through or the things that happens in the world,” he said calmly. “But I do believe that no one would be who they are today if they hadn’t gone through what they have gone through.”

Murtagh supposed he could see that, but even so.

“But I didn’t bring you here to discuss religious beliefs.” Shruikan looked up at the arched wooden ceiling. “Sometimes I find it easier to let things out when I’m in God’s house, even if I’m not a fully-fledged Christian. There’s something about the atmosphere that makes me relax and talk.” He looked at Murtagh again. “Perhaps it will have the same effect on you.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I have talked. It seems like all I’ve done so far is to talk about my problems. I can’t go anywhere without someone asking if I’m alright, like they all know about the skeletons in my closet.”

Shruikan nodded mutely. 

“I talk to my shrink, to Tornac, to Thorn and if I had a pet, I’m sure I would have talked to that too. I’m sick of it.” Murtagh looked down at his hands. They were clenched. He didn’t know when that had happened. “Sometimes I wish they would understand that I don’t want to talk.”

“Then tell them that.”

Murtagh sighed. “They don’t believe me. Not after everything with King.”

Shruikan chuckled again. “Glaedr was the same way when I told him. Every time I flinched or fell silent, he was sure that was the reason.”

Murtagh looked up in shock. Glaedr knew?!

Shruikan nodded to his unsaid question. “He’s all-but my husband. I had to tell him. It’s a vital part of who I am.”

Murtagh couldn’t imagine telling a lover that he had been abused as a child. Then again, he couldn’t imagine himself having a lover, so that was hardly an issue.

“What about you?”

He blinked. “What about me?”

Shruikan tilted his head slightly. “Your partner. Does he or she know?”

Murtagh almost felt the need to smile. “I don’t have one.”

Shruikan fell silent.

“I suppose Thorn didn’t tell you too much about me or why I’m here.”

The other man only shook his head.

Murtagh felt something flare in his chest. Thorn had come through on his promise, it seemed. Not even Saphira seemed to know about his dark past. 

“I didn’t move for someone’s sake,” Murtagh said quietly. “I was released from prison a year ago. I moved here for my parole time. My lawyer thought it would be best to get away from home.”

“You were in prison,” Shruikan said. A statement, not a question. “Was it related to the senator?”

Yes. No. A little. It was impossible to find the right answer.

“I killed my father.” The words seemed to flow easier off his tongue now than they had done in the beginning. Then again, he had confessed said fact to three other people before now. That certainly had something to do with it.

Shruikan fell silent again.

The old feeling rose up in his chest. Uncertainty, pain, anger. 

“He was in league with King,” Murtagh continued. “His death can be seen as tied to or unrelated to the senator. I killed him because he was trying to kill me.”

“Then how can it be related?” Shruikan asked very carefully.

“It might be King’s face that haunts me the most, but it was my father that started it all. King didn’t come along until two years after my father started to -” he cut himself off. He couldn’t say the words. Not here, not to Shruikan.

Shruikan gave a soft hum. “Then the prison sentence?”

“Was for my father’s murder.”

Shruikan crocked an eyebrow. Murtagh hadn’t realise he was looking at the other until then. “They didn’t rule it as self-defence?”

He simply shook his head. “I didn’t tell them it had been.”

Shruikan looked away. His face seemed to be naturally blank, but there was a slight tightness around his mouth that hadn’t been there before.

“If you want to talk more, you can call me,” he said and looked over again. “Sometimes it helps to talk to someone who has been through the same.”

Murtagh looked away. The statue of Jesus almost seemed to glow. 

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

-:-

He ended up not going to the Christmas party. After the talk with Shruikan, Murtagh simply wasn’t ready to be around so many people when so many seemed to know his dirty secrets. He found a few movies and watched those instead.

Murtagh had almost forgotten about the Christmas presents when he suddenly had guests, plural, in his apartment. Thorn and Saphira had been the first to arrive. Saphira wasn’t too big yet, but she was clearly pregnant. 

Tornac came only a few minutes later. Like Thorn, he was carrying a plastic bag, but he was also carrying a cardboard box under his other arm. Murtagh was again reminded of the bag in his closet. He hadn’t even taken them out of there.

The three of them were now seated on his couch. Murtagh was forced to pull out a chair from his kitchen area.

“We missed you last night,” Tornac said once Murtagh was finally seated. 

“You missed a lot,” Saphira said and smiled. She was rubbing a hand over her stomach. It appeared to be an unconscious movement.

“Like Aksel getting drunk and loudly proclaiming himself as Vanir’s bit- boyfriend,” Thorn quickly corrected himself after a sharp look from Saphira. 

Saphira nodded and let out a soft giggle. “He even kissed him under the mistletoe. I never thought I’d see the day Vanir would blush.”

Murtagh tried to remember who Vanir was. It quickly hit him. His neighbour. Right.

“I suppose I’ll have to ask him to keep it down for a change,” Murtagh drawled.

There was a collective silence before Thorn started to laugh loudly. Saphira’s giggles were nearly inaudible, but Murtagh could see her shoulder’s shaking. Tornac just grinned amusedly.

“Anyway,” Saphira brushed some hair behind her ear, “you also missed the gifts.”

Thorn nodded. “So here we are.”

Murtagh sighed. He felt guilty about not having at least stopped by to give them their presents. “I’ll go find them.”

“Don’t get up on our account,” Tornac said, already out of his seat. “Where are they?”

Murtagh blinked. “...In the closet.”

Tornac nodded and disappeared into Murtagh’s bedroom. Murtagh wanted to warn him about the additional gift for Thorn there, but he figured Tornac would understand the difference between the one gift addressed to couple and the one addressed just to Thorn. 

Tornac came back a minute or so later. Murtagh breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he saw that Tornac hadn’t brought Thorn’s gift.

“You get to go first,” Thorn told him smugly and all but shoved a gift into Murtagh’s arms. 

Murtagh looked down at the box. It was wrapped in a bright red paper with snowmen on it. He sighed and gently unwrapped it. 

“...DVDs?” Murtagh asked. There were several of them stuffed into the box. He recognised maybe a title or two.

“You only have, what, ten? That’s hardly enough entertainment, especially with this blasted winter we’ve been having,” Thorn said and clasped his shoulder. 

Saphira rolled her eyes. “Thorn insisted. I wanted to give you something nice and practical, but no,” she scoffed. “Men.”

Thorn grinned sheepishly. 

“Fear not, my lady. I have the thing you requested,” Tornac winked at her and pulled out another present. 

Thorn stared at it, even as Murtagh started to unwrap it.

“What is it?” he asked.

Saphira shushed him.

Murtagh examined the box that was under the wrapping paper. He blinked. “A toaster?”

Saphira nodded.

“...That’s it?” Thorn commented.

The look Saphira shot him told him to shut up, or else. Thorn wisely shut up.

“Thank you, Saphira,” Murtagh said softly. If she wanted to give him a toaster, then fine. Common sense told him not to anger a pregnant woman. 

Murtagh turned to Tornac. “You three are next.”

Tornac sent him a knowing look. “If you insist.”

Murtagh sat back and watched his friends open the gifts he had struggled to wrap semi-decently.

Tornac thanked him for the book and promised that it wasn’t a terrible gift at all. He even added that he had looked at this illustrated version of the Hobbit before Christmas, but hadn’t bought it. Murtagh was silently grateful for that. He had been worried. 

Tornac had helped Murtagh with the gift for Thorn and Saphira. He had settled on kitchen utensils, ironically enough. The smiles on their faces told Murtagh that they appreciated the gift, if nothing else.

Murtagh wasn’t used to buying other people presents. Tornac was the only one he had bought anything for since Thorn had disappeared from his life thirteen years ago.

“Alright then,” Tornac stated and rubbed his hands together eagerly. “My turn.”

Murtagh wasn’t sure what kind of expression Tornac was wearing, but it made him slightly uneasy. It was a different kind of unease. He hadn’t felt this kind before. He trusted Tornac with his life, but he just wasn’t sure what Tornac was planning now. 

The older man picked up the cardboard box and handed it over. Murtagh was surprised how heavy it was. He only then noticed the small holes on the sides of the box.

“Well? Go on,” Tornac urged him.

Murtagh examined the box for the best way to open it. It had a sort of fold-in lid. He quickly found the way to open it and did so.

Two eyes stared up at him. Murtagh jumped back in shock. 

Tornac chuckled.

“...You got me a cat?” Murtagh whispered.

The feline in the box mewed in answer.

“That’s right.” Tornac put his hands into the box and plucked out the feline.

It had a short, silky black coat and two grey strips behind its eyes that lead to its ears where it looked like the fur was thinner. Its tail was shorter than Murtagh had expected. Its left eye was blue while its right eye was green.

“I picked her up at the local shelter,” Tornac explained and put the cat down on the couch. The feline instantly started to purr and wanted affection from Thorn. “I figured it was time I found you a bed-mate, even if was a pet.”

Murtagh stared at the cat as Thorn petted her. She was purring gently.

“If you don’t want her, I will happily take her myself.”

Murtagh sighed. “I’m not sure if I know how -”

“To care for a feline? I thought as much,” the older man said. “This is an American bobtail; a good cat for first-time pet owners. The shelter says she has an excellent temper, as you can see. She doesn’t have any anxiety for being left alone, so you leaving the house to go to work won’t be a problem. I think she would be quite perfect for you.”

Murtagh wasn’t quite sure what to think about all of this. He would never have guessed that Tornac would buy him a cat. Though, if the cat came from a shelter, he wasn’t sure if Tornac had bought her.

“Why don’t you come and say hello?”

Murtagh shifted. The feline’s eyes were instantly on him. He froze.

The cat mewed and leaped up on the table. Before Murtagh could reprimand it, the cat had gone into his lap and lain down. She stretched out and started to purr.

“At least we know she likes you,” Tornac chuckled.

Murtagh looked at the others.

Thorn looked a little stumped while his wife looked smitten. Clearly she thought the cat was adorable or something similar.

Murtagh looked down at the feline again. Her eyes were closed. He hesitantly reached out and put a hand on her back. The purring instantly intensified. 

Something came over him then. Murtagh could feel himself start to relax as he started to pet the feline.

“Will you take her?” Tornac asked.

Murtagh stroked the fur behind the feline’s ears. He could feel her chest vibrate as the purring intensified even more.

“What’s her name?”

Murtagh didn’t even look up to know that Tornac was smiling.

“Fenris,” the other answered.

He looked up at this. One of the few things he remembered from his childhood was his interest in mythology and ancient religions. History had probably been one of his favourite subjects. He could clearly remember the name Fenris.

“As in the Norse wolf? Fenrir?” he asked.

Tornac’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed. It seems like her previous owners wasn’t aware of her gender.”

Murtagh looked down at the feline. She was wearing a collar that he hadn’t noticed before. There wasn’t a nametag on it yet.

“You can rename her if you wish.”

Murtagh stroked her spine and felt her short tail thump against his thigh.

“No. Fenris is fine.”

Fenris just continued to purr.

-:-

Tornac hadn’t just brought along Fenris that Christmas Morning. Apparently he had been very certain that his cunning plan would succeed and had bought all the items Murtagh would need to take care of Fenris. 

Fenris had everything she needed; dishes for water and food, toys, a basket to sleep in, a brush, scratching posts and litter boxes. Tornac had helped Murtagh set it all up.

The night was falling and Murtagh hadn’t quite yet gotten used to his new roommate. Fenris was a very low-maintenance cat, but Murtagh still jumped when she jumped up on the couch and curled up on her blanket. Tornac had given him that as well, saying that it was an old blanket she had been sleeping on at his place for the past few days. He claimed he wasn’t going to miss it. 

Murtagh stroked along her spine and felt Fenris lean into his touch. The same feeling hit him again. It was so easy to relax once he started to pet her, and he wasn’t quite sure why.

But it didn’t matter. Murtagh was just glad to have her. He had a feeling he was going to need a stress-reliever soon.

-:-

“Happy New Year,” Angela said when he entered her office.

“To you as well,” he answered. He walked over to his chair and sat down. There were a couple of cat hairs on his right thigh. Murtagh brushed them away before realising where he was. He blanched and looked up at Angela.

She had already taken her seat and was looking at him with a crocked eyebrow.

“I got a cat,” he explained. “She doesn’t shed much, but she sheds a little.”

Angela perked up at this. “A cat?”

Murtagh leaned back in his seat. “Yes. Tornac got her from the rescue centre. Said I needed a bed-mate.”

The second eyebrow followed the first.

“It’s an inside joke,” Murtagh explained. “He thinks that I would sleep better if I had someone in bed with me; platonically or otherwise.”

Angela let out a soft hum and nodded. “He might be onto something there.”

“But he knows I have no interest in a relationship and that I have no friend that I can ask to sleep beside me every night.”

Angela pursed her lips before making a notation in her notebook. “You still feel that way?”

Murtagh felt some of the excess relaxation from Fenris fade away. He really didn’t like talking about relationships.

“Yes,” he said simply. 

“And you still base that on the fact that you wouldn’t be able to be with them romantically?” she asked.

Murtagh was a little tired of having the same conversation over and over. Granted, they hadn’t had it that many times, maybe five or so. Angela had tried to get him to talk about his feeling surrounding the abuse more times than that, but it was still a fair amount.

“Yes,” he repeated. “From what I understand of romantic relationships, there’s a certain requirement of sexual interaction that I have no interest in.”

Angela looked at him closely. Murtagh felt like squirming.

At least a minute passed in silence. Finally she seemed to come to an agreement with herself and nodded. 

“I have another assignment for you,” she said and removed her glasses. “Nothing sexual this time, I promise,” she said and gave him a teasing smile.

Murtagh was a little surprised at her teasing, but he was more surprised when he didn’t feel uncomfortable with it. When had he gotten so used to Angela that he could allow her to say things like that without making him uncomfortable?

“I want you to think about why you’re so against relationships. Examine every angle and try to see the reasons behind your reasons. Look deeper,” she clarified. 

“Isn’t that what you are here for?” he had to ask.

Angela smiled and started to clean the right lens of her glasses. “I can’t do everything for you, Murtagh. I have my suspicions, but I want you to do some of the legwork yourself.”

Murtagh felt the urge to groan.

Great. More homework. He couldn’t wait.

-:-

Murtagh found that he slept better with Fenris in the house. Well, technically he slept better when she slept next to him. She had quickly bored of her bed and jumped into his bed in the middle of the night. She had disturbed a rather nasty nightmare and Murtagh had petted her gratefully for it. When he fell asleep again, he couldn’t remember what he had dreamt about.

He involuntarily had to admit that there was something to what Tornac kept saying. Having a bed-mate helped keep the worst nightmares at bay. But there was one problem.

Angela’s homework. Why he didn’t want to be in a relationship.

It was raining when he found himself actually contemplating this. Thunder rolled somewhere close by, and Murtagh had already turned off his TV, internet connection and plugged out his telephone. He stared out of the window and let his hand glide through Fenris’ silky fur.

One of the main reasons he didn’t want to be in a relationship was that he didn’t know how to interact with another person on that level of commitment. Sometimes Murtagh wondered if he even knew how to be a friend correctly. Tornac and he had an understanding. Their friendship just was. Nothing Murtagh could say or do could break it. Or so he hoped.

His only other friend had to be Thorn, but Murtagh wasn’t sure if he was being a good friend to the other. And even if he didn’t, they had a prior friendship. There was something there between them that wouldn’t leave no matter what happened.

He and Eragon shared a professional relationship, if he could call it such. They knew things about each other, though the weight was hardly even. Eragon knew a lot more about Murtagh than Murtagh knew about him. And they definitely weren’t friends.

Saphira was just an acquaintance. She came along with the Thorn package. His other acquaintances were just that; acquaintances. He wasn’t even close to the people he worked with.

Murtagh could easily accept and admit that he had problems forming new connections. There was always a part of him that was waiting for someone to betray him. 

Maybe that was one of the other reasons? Murtagh paused his stroking and Fenris mewled at him. 

“Sorry,” he muttered and went back to petting her. She purred at him.

It could be. If he couldn’t trust anyone not to hurt him, then how could he let anyone close? It just wasn’t possible. Sure, he trusted Tornac and maybe even Thorn explicitly, or at least as much as he could, but he couldn’t say he would put the same trust in the new people in his life.

So he had trust issues. Somehow putting words to one of his problems helped. He had heard that getting a diagnosis, even a bad one, sometimes lifted the weight of a burden. It helped to know what was wrong. Murtagh found himself believing that.

Murtagh stroked between Fenris’ ears. She awarded him with nuzzling into his hand and purring louder.

But there was more to the trust issue. He knew that his father had scarred him deeply. Angela hadn’t spelled it out, but he could almost hear her say it.

‘No child should be hurt by the people that are supposed to protect them; namely their parents. There is no deeper betrayal and it will leave deep wounds.’

Maybe she had said it at one time and he hadn’t really registered it? Murtagh gave a slight shrug. It was possible.

It was easy to say that he had been betrayed by the one person he was supposed to trust. His father had hurt him instead of protected him. Of course he was going to be affected by it. 

His father had abused him practically all his life. Morzan had hit and thrown him around. Murtagh knew that a small part of him had hoped that it would end and that Morzan would be a real father towards him, but it had never happened. Of course he would be unwilling to put that amount of trust in anyone again.

So his inability to trust and his asexuality were his biggest issues. He could work on the first one, but Murtagh couldn’t see how he could ‘get over’ his sexuality. 

Sure, there were times when he wished he had someone of his own; someone that would hug him and be there for him. Someone that cared about him. But Murtagh had someone like that, even if Tornac was his father figure rather than a partner. Murtagh was fine with that. He wasn’t desperate for a girlfriend or boyfriend.

Murtagh wondered if Angela would ever let that part go. He believed that he could go through life without having a partner by his side. He didn’t need a husband or wife to feel complete. He had friends and now he even had a cat.

Murtagh looked down at Fenris. He suddenly noticed that she had stopped purring.

Fenris was looking up at him with her head tilted slightly to the side. She mewled softly, almost sadly.

Tornac had told him that pets had the ability to sense their owners’ mood. If that was the case, then he didn’t understand why Fenris would look sad. Murtagh was fine. He was just thinking.

The feline mewled again and nudged into his still hand. 

“Ok, I’ll think about something else,” he said and stroked her head.

Fenris kept her eyes on him for a few more seconds before closing them. She let out a soft, almost inaudible purr.

Murtagh sighed and looked out of the window again. If possible, it seemed like it was raining even harder than before. Murtagh mused that it would be interesting to see how Angela would react to the news that he hadn’t been able to fully complete his homework because Fenris hadn’t approved of it.


	11. Tetrodotoxin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some talk of religion being used as an “excuse” for intolerance against homosexuals. This is not an attempt to put all Christians or all religious people under one comb. I know that everyone is different, but I also know that tragic things like these actually happen. This story features a character that is exposed to such.

Murtagh leaned back against the wall and turned the page. He preferred to stay in the washing room while his clothes were in the machines. He hadn’t forgotten himself yet, but he was afraid he would. He didn’t have much clothes and he didn’t feel like buying anything until he had to.

He looked up when he heard footsteps. He had only been forced to share the space once, and that had been with his neighbour. Vanir, Murtagh thought his name had been.

For some reason, that name rang some bells in his mind. It made him think of something that his mind insisted that Saphira had told him, though Murtagh couldn’t quite remember what that was.

When the cause of the footsteps appeared, Murtagh was relatively unsurprised when it turned out to be Vanir. 

The other man paused. He crocked a sculpted eyebrow and nodded in greeting.

Murtagh did the same and turned back to his book. Paul had just gone missing and was presumed dead. Despite the riddles in the book that he had no hope of solving and the reference material that went right over his head, he was quite enjoying it. He let the character go about their business and solve the mystery while he sat back and watched.

“I didn’t take you for a Renaissance man,” Vanir drawled.

Murtagh looked up again. Their last meeting was still firmly planted in his mind. He hadn’t actually spoken to him since, though Murtagh had seen him around. It was hard not to when Thorn seemed to know him. Murtagh didn’t quite know what to make of him, only that Vanir could be quite the bastard.

As for what Vanir had said, Murtagh was content to look at him and wait for the elaboration of his statement.

“The Rule of Four,” Vanir continued and started to put his clothes into an available machine. “I’ve read it.”

Murtagh dog-eared the page he was on. “I see.”

“You must be more educated than I gave you credit for.”

Murtagh felt his right eye twitch. “I’m less, but thank you for your vote of confidence.”

Vanir crocked an eyebrow, but was interrupted before he could speak.

“Hold it!”

Murtagh blinked and nearly missed seeing a blond blur that ran over to Vanir and grabbed a pair of jeans out of his hands. “My phone’s in there!”

He quickly realised that he knew the blond that was rummaging through the jeans’ pockets. That was when he realised why Vanir’s name had been linked to Saphira. She had told him that Vanir was dating and just who he was dating.

Vanir rolled his eyes. “How have you not drowned it before?” he drawled to his companion.

Aksel let out a cry of triumph as the device was finally found. He stuck his tongue out at Vanir and handed the jeans back. “Ain’t my fault you grabbed my clothes without tellin’ me. I know where my stuff is at all times, thanks ever so much.”

Vanir let out a disbelieving snort.

“Why were you grabbin’ my stuff anyway?” Aksel asked and slipped the phone into one of the many pockets on his current pants.

The other crocked an eyebrow and deliberately gestured at a stain that even Murtagh could see from where he was sitting. And just then Murtagh learned more about his neighbour and his boyfriend than he needed to know.

Aksel sweatdropped. “Righty-o.”

Vanir rolled his eyes again and went back to the washing machine.

Murtagh really wished he had gone back to his book when Aksel promptly grabbed Vanir’s ass-cheeks and squeezed. Murtagh nearly started to laugh at the startled squeak Vanir came with.

Aksel grinned when his boyfriend glared at him over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he said, clearly not meaning it.

“We have company, you imbecile,” Vanir hissed.

Murtagh hid a smirk with his book. He managed to catch the dumbfounded look Aksel came with before he pretended he hadn’t been watching them.

“Whu?” Aksel looked around and finally spotted Murtagh. “Oh, ‘lo to you!”

Murtagh nodded at him before genuinely going back to his book. Of course, that didn’t mean he had to stop listening to them.

“Could have said that before, Vane,” the blond all but whined.

Vanir growled. “You should learn to look before you leap, Aksel.”

“Bah. You’re just too PDA sensitive, man.”

Murtagh turned the page and really tried to focus on Tom’s firm belief that Paul was still alive and in hiding, but it was hard to focus with the two going at it at the other end of the room.

There was an unmistakeable sound of someone giving someone else a wet kiss. Murtagh was willing to bet that Aksel was the one doing the kissing.

“See you upstairs, loverboy,” Aksel said cheekily and, judging by the hurried footsteps, bolted out of the room.

Vanir growled again.

Murtagh allowed himself to smirk. “So, I guess this is where I tell you to keep it down in the future?”

He didn’t look up, but Murtagh could still feel the filthy glare Vanir sent his way.

Suddenly his day didn’t look so bleak and troubled anymore.

\----

“How have you been?”

Murtagh loosened the scarf around his neck. It had been particularly cold that afternoon. It was during times like this that he wished he knew a bus route from his apartment to Angela’s office.

“Fine,” he answered.

Angela opened his file, but didn’t even pick up her pen. She crossed her arms and leaned forward. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned about yourself this past week?”

Murtagh leaned back and tried to get comfortable. He had not been looking forward to this part.

“I have trust issues and problems forming new friendships,” he stated plainly. “Maybe I think that if I let someone close, they’ll hurt me.”

Angela was watching him closely. Murtagh told himself not to react to it.

“Very good, Murtagh,” she said and made a note in the file. “Do you think you can work past that?”

“Maybe not completely.”

She gave him a sad smile. “At least you’re honest.”

Murtagh gave a shrug that he grudgingly had to admit was a little awkward.

“Did anything interesting happen this week?”

Murtagh started to speak before he could stop himself. “I found out that my neighbour has a boyfriend.”

Angela blinked, but didn’t comment.

“I...know both of them,” he settled for saying. “Personally I can’t see what either of them sees in each other, but each to his own.”

“His own? So they are both men?” she asked.

Murtagh nodded.

“And you don’t mind?”

Murtagh thought that was a rather stupid question. “Just because I was raped by men doesn’t mean I hate homosexuals. People are free to love and be with whoever they want to.”

For some reason, this made her smile. “Good.”

He frowned. “Did you think I was going to be against homosexuality after this?”

“It is always an option after a trauma like yours,” Angela answered ad looked at him sombrely. “People have blamed everything from gender to race, nationality and sexuality.” 

“I am not one of them.”

“No. You simply shy away from the act of sex itself,” she said kindly.

Murtagh didn’t comment.

\----

Murtagh came home after having worked an afternoon shift. He gripped his mail in one hand and he unlocked the door with his other.

Fenris was instantly at the door and rubbing up against him.

Murtagh had to smile. He could freely admit that it was nice to have someone to come home to. “Hey Fenris,” he said softly and slipped into the apartment. “Missed me, hm?”

Fenris mewled and trotted off, most likely towards the kitchen.

He put down the mail on the table next to his coatrack. He took off his jacket and his shoes before walking into the kitchen. Fenris hadn’t nagged him about dinner yet, but Murtagh knew it was only a matter of time before she did.

Having fed Fenris and left her to nibble at her food, Murtagh grabbed his mail and sorted through it. He rarely got any; just junk mail and the local newspaper at some odd intervals. He figured the paper was actually meant for another mailbox, but that the mailman sometimes chose the wrong one.

He paused when he came to a letter. He rarely got letters. His friends preferred to call or visit. Something about it made him feel uncomfortable.

Murtagh jumped when Fenris came with an unexpected mewl. She was tilting her head again and giving him that sad look.

“What?” he asked her. 

Fenris just mewled again.

Murtagh picked her up and walked over to the couch. She got himself comfortable in his lap, but her purring was more subdued than usual. 

“What’s wrong?”

Fenris could only mewl in answer.

Murtagh opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. His insides instantly turned to ice. He had to force himself to breathe.

Before he allowed himself to think, he had reached for the phone and was dialling.

\----

Shruikan hadn’t looked up since Murtagh had shoved the letter into his hands. Murtagh watched him from his place at the couch. 

The collar of Shruikan’s sweater was wet. His hair was flat and as Murtagh watched, a drop slid down the side of his face and down his neck. Murtagh hadn’t even noticed it had started to snow outside.

“Is this the first time he has contacted you like this?”

He jumped at the sound of Shruikan’s voice. His eyes went from Shruikan’s chest to his face.

Shruikan had a much better poker face than him, Murtagh could easily admit that. Shruikan was also good at displaying emotions that Murtagh had no idea how to interpret. 

Like now. There was something in his eyes that Murtagh couldn’t quite pinpoint. It looked like anger and yet not.

“Yes.”

Shruikan carefully folded the letter together. Murtagh was surprised by this. He had nearly curled it up and hurled it out of the window.

He didn’t need it keep it to remember what it said. The words had been imprinted into his mind.

“Something about you compels him to contact you,” Shruikan said carefully.

Murtagh didn’t know what he was feeling. Anger. Disarray. Panic. Nothing seemed to fit. 

“Blame my father. Apparently I look like him,” Murtagh heard himself say. His voice was sharp, unsteady. 

Shruikan ignored his words and went right to the issue. “You should take this to the police.”

“And have them do what?! There’s nothing threatening in that letter. At least, not unless you can read it like we do, and no one else reads it like we do!” Murtagh clenched his jaw. Panic. He was definitely panicked. 

“You have nothing from back then that can link him to your abuse?”

“Oh God, you and Tornac should become buddies.” He gave a sharp laugh. “There is nothing back in Urû’baen. And if there ever was, then my father destroyed it.”

Shruikan just continued to look at him. 

“What I need is a way to protect myself. I can’t leave for another six months.”

Shruikan put the letter back into its envelope. He padded into the kitchen, leaving Murtagh behind. Murtagh didn’t have the time to follow him, as he walked out only moments later. He was in the process of putting the letter into a plastic bag.

“What are you doing?”

“In case you do decide to do something about him,” Shruikan said simply. “I’m preserving evidence. I’ve seen police do the same at the hospital.”

“I can’t do anything about him,” Murtagh hissed. “He’s fucking untouchable. He always has been!”

“No man is completely untouchable,” Shruikan said then. “Since you mentioned Tornac, would you mind if I left this with him?” He held up the letter. “Then, if the senator gets cold feet, it won’t be around.”

It was then it really hit him. King knew where he worked and even knew his new name. Now King where he lived.

He was in serious trouble.

“I can’t stay here,” he whispered. 

Shruikan was silent.

“He knows where I live. He’s sending me letters. He’ll come visiting soon enough.”

After a minute of tense silence, Shruikan finally spoke. “Come with me.”

\----

“Are you sure this is no bother?”

“That boy in there is like a son to me. Of course it’s no bother.”

Tornac and Shruikan’s voices slipped through the crack under the door. Murtagh barely looked up from his hands as they continued to speak.

“If anything like this happens again, you can call me.”

“I will keep that in mind, Shruikan.”

Fenris mewled and looked up at him sadly. Murtagh bent down and picked her up. She instantly made herself comfortable in his lap. She butted her head into his hand whenever he stroked it.

He didn’t look up until there was a knock on the door. Tornac pushed it open and looked at him. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, Murtagh.”

He gave a mute nod.

“I’ll go fix us some dinner.”

Murtagh kept his eyes on Fenris and refused to let himself think. 

\----

Life carried on somehow. Tornac refused to let him go back to his apartment. He and Shruikan went there to pack everything up for Murtagh and brought it over to Tornac’s house. Tornac then sent in a notice to the landlord about Murtagh’s change of address and told Murtagh to check in with his parole officer to let him know about the move.

Murtagh was numb. He hadn’t realised how good he had had it until it was all on the brink of coming apart. Despite his nightmares and his complete failure in finding himself, he had gotten comfortable. Carvahall almost seemed like a real home. 

A home that now was threatened.

He made the call to Ajihad in a daze. He didn’t remember what reason he had given, but Ajihad hadn’t seemed worried or inclined to question him more. 

Angela was completely different.

“You moved in with Tornac?” 

Murtagh was back in his most comfortable hoodie. Somehow he still felt cold. 

“Yes.”

Angela frowned. “Did the landlord kick you out?”

Murtagh closed his eyes. Everything was coming apart. He hadn’t told Angela the specifics of King’s visit, but now he would have to.

“Someone from my old life found me last autumn.”

Angela looked at him sharply. 

“One of my abusers,” he continued. “He knows my name, he knows where I live. He threatened to visit if I didn’t keep our ‘relationship’ secret. I...panicked. That is why I’m living with Tornac.”

“And you’re only telling me now,” she stated dryly.

“I thought I had scared him off. I should have known better.” He swallowed to get rid of the taste of bile in his mouth. “He didn’t contact me before last week. I thought he had forgotten about me.”

“Murtagh, this is serious.”

“I know,” he said sharply before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat and forced his voice to sound gentler. “But there is nothing I can do. No, really, there is nothing. Have you heard of Senator Galbatorix King?”

She visibly paused.

“My father may have started it all, but he had no problems following King’s directions once he came along.”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“I have no evidence against him. The letter is harmless unless you can read between the lines. He didn’t even sign it, but I know it’s him. I have no case; just my word against his,” Murtagh recited, seemingly for the twentieth time. 

After he had come to live with Tornac, the older man had been relentless in his case to find some way to bring King to justice. Murtagh just wished he would stop. 

Angela closed his file. “Murtagh, this is very serious. This -”

“Concerns not only me, but those around me,” he finished for her. “I know.”

Angela shook her head. “This will put your recovery back several months, if it hasn’t already. You should have told me.”

“I did. It was around the time I refused to sleep. I just didn’t tell you how serious it was.” 

She gave him a disapproving look. 

“In my defence, you probably should have caught it from the drunken rambling I had with Eragon,” he drawled.

“You didn’t tell me he deliberately sought you out,” she said disapprovingly. “We have to do something about this, Murtagh.”

“There is nothing that can be done,” he said tiredly. “I just want to move on and forget I ever met him.”

“Such it is with all ghosts.” Angela stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in her pencil skirt. “You need to report this, Murtagh.”

He couldn’t help but to notice that she repeated his name whenever he did something she didn’t like.

“The police won’t believe me.”

“Oh, they will. I will make sure of it,” she said firmly. “I’ll see you again next week.”

\----

There was a clear difference between living alone, then with a pet and then with another person. Tornac and Murtagh didn’t always see each other much, but Tornac always made sure he was alright even if he had to get up at three in the morning to check on him. Working as a teacher was apparently more demanding that one would think.

But after his conversation with Angela, everything slowly started to fall to pieces.

It was afternoon when someone visited. Murtagh had been taking a nap in preparation for his late-night shift, but the doorbell woke him. The guest room was close enough to the living room that he could hear Tornac and the visitor through the wall.

“Brom. What a nice surprise.”

Brom didn’t give a verbal answer. The door shut softly and Murtagh fully prepared to go back to sleep. 

“Do you have a visitor?”

Unfortunately, their voices were breaking through the hazy cloud that was still in his mind. 

“Temporary roommate,” Tornac answered. Their voices sounded a little further away, but Murtagh could still make them out. “Murtagh needed a place to stay.”

“I see,” Brom said shortly.

Murtagh was fully awake now. He pushed himself up and frowned at the door. After he had worked things out with Eragon, at least partially, he hadn’t thought Brom would suddenly find a reason to disapprove of him. 

“Brom?”

Apparently Tornac shared his confusion.

“Is he here?” Brom asked.

“Yes, but he’s sleeping. He has the night shift at the bar later,” Tornac explained. “Brom, what is going on?”

“I finally remembered who Murtagh reminded me of.”

Murtagh felt the blood drain from his face. Oh no. Not now; not while everything else was going to hell.

“He’s Morzan’s son,” Brom all but growled.

“He is not his father,” Tornac said, his voice carefully neutral. “He never was, nor will he ever be.”

“He killed his own father,” the other said sharply.

Murtagh couldn’t breathe. 

“You don’t know anything about that incident, Rider,” Tornac said coolly. “I suggest you drop it unless you want our friendship to suffer.”

“Do -”

“Yes, I remember who and what Morzan was,” Tornac interrupted. “I will never be able to forget it. But if you ask me to pick a side, I will side with Murtagh. He has no one thanks to that man.”

Murtagh couldn’t let Tornac do this. He knew Tornac had few friends. All of Tornac’s efforts had been put into fighting for his health and keeping Murtagh as safe as he could. He refused to let Tornac push away a good friend just because of this.

Murtagh got up and opened the door. He didn’t even bother to put a sweater of the t-shirt he slept in. His forearms were bare, but he didn’t even care anymore.

“I can tell him,” Murtagh said and stared at the two men.

Brom was standing, already turned away to leave. Tornac was still seated on the couch, back stiff and one hand fisted in the material of the couch.

Tornac’s expression instantly softened, then hardened. Murtagh forced himself to not rush back inside to grab a sweater. He could do this, scars be damned.

Brom’s expression was hard, though with distrust rather than in anger. 

“Whatever my father did to you is nothing compared to what he did to me,” Murtagh said and stepped into the room. “He threw me down the stairs when I was five because I interrupted his sleep. He threw me into a glass coffee table when I was ten and nearly let me bleed to death because I forgot to take out the garbage. And when I turned thirteen, he started to rape me.”

Murtagh didn’t go far into the room, just a step away from the door. He wanted a quick and easy escape when he was done.

“When I turned fifteen, he started to sell me to his friends. I was lucky if only one of them was at me at a time.” Murtagh crossed his arms, suddenly feeling even more naked and chilled to the bone. “When I was eighteen, he tried to kill me because I wanted to move away and go to college. Had I not fought back, it would have been me that died instead of him.”

Neither man had spoken. Murtagh didn’t dare to look at Tornac. He kept his eyes over Brom’s shoulder. 

Whatever he was making Brom think, he didn’t want to see it.

“Sometimes I regret it. Sometimes I regret not dying in his stead. Sometimes I regret not doing it sooner.” He swallowed around the bile that threatened to come out. “You can say whatever you want about me, but you will not badmouth Tornac. He is and will always be the only real family member I’ve ever had.”

Murtagh then turned around and went back to his room.

Several minutes passed in silence. Murtagh couldn’t move. He just stood there with his back to the door, eyes locked on the opposite wall. 

He told himself he didn’t feel. He was numb. 

“Come. Let’s talk somewhere else,” Tornac said softly.

When he heard the front door close, he told himself it was all a dream and went back to bed.

\----

Murtagh was still awake when Tornac returned. He got up and walked out of the room.

Tornac had hung up his coat and was brushing wet strands out of his face. His hair looked impossibly dark when it was wet.

Tornac saw him. “Murtagh.”

Murtagh couldn’t speak.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Tornac approached him slowly, like he was a skittish animal. Murtagh supposed in some way he was.

“I’ve heard worse.”

Tornac’s expression became pinched. “That doesn’t mean you should have to hear it.”

Murtagh crossed his arms. He still hadn’t put on a sweater, he realized.

Tornac put his hands on Murtagh’s shoulders. “I set things straight. Brom won’t bother you again.”

“He didn’t bother me,” Murtagh said softly. “I knew he had encountered my father before. I just hoped he wouldn’t make the connection.”

“You are not your father,” the other man said firmly. “You never were nor will you ever be.”

“I know.”

“Brom and I knew your father when he was younger. Brom moved away, I didn’t.” Tornac slid his hands down Murtagh’s arms until they rested over his scars. “I don’t regret it for one second. To know that I have been there for you makes it worth it.”

Murtagh wanted to pull away, but Tornac’s presence was soothing, relaxing even. 

“How did your social circles even meet?” Murtagh found himself asking. “There are some years between you.”

The wrinkles in the corner of Tornac’s eyes deepened as he smiled. “I’m not that young, Murtagh. There are three years between your father and myself. Brom, while he certainly acts older than me, isn’t. We’re the same age. But I didn’t truly grow up until you came into the picture. You have helped me as well, believe it or not.”

Murtagh didn’t believe it and he knew it showed.

Tornac chuckled. “Come. Let’s get some food in you.”

Murtagh let himself be led.

\----

The next couple of days passed in a haze. He managed to go back to work, but he never felt safe. Galbatorix knew of this place. He knew of too much now.

Murtagh had asked Arya to take a few afternoon shifts after the move. She hadn’t been able to switch it around immediately, but now he could relax knowing that he didn’t have to walk home in the middle of the night anymore. 

He entered the house just after 8.30 one night to find a set of unfamiliar shoes next to Tornac’s. They were noticeably smaller Tornac’s. 

Murtagh frowned as he took off his jacket. Tornac never saw any students at home because of Murtagh. He didn’t know who could be inside waiting.

“There he is,” Tornac said when Murtagh stepped into the living room.

Murtagh paused. Eragon was seated on Tornac’s couch with a cup in his hands. He stiffened slightly when he saw Murtagh and quickly put down the china. 

“Eragon,” he said in a way of greeting.

Eragon just nodded. Murtagh was drawn to Eragon’s twitching hands. He recognised that from one of their earlier encounters. Eragon was nervous.

“I’ll leave you kids to it.” Tornac smiled at Murtagh and ventured deeper into the house.

Silence reigned between them. 

Murtagh didn’t know what to say. It seemed like Eragon had sought him out, but Murtagh knew Eragon sometimes had problems speaking his mind. 

“You came here to see me?” Murtagh asked.

Eragon swallowed and gave a quick nod. “Dad said you lived here now. I...I wanted to apologise for him.”

“Don’t.” Murtagh found himself oddly aware of being dressed in his work clothes and forced himself to push that out of his mind. “He’s rather like you, in a way.”

Eragon winced. “Yeah, that’s why I wanted to apologise. He often speaks before he thinks. If he said anything -”

“Nothing irreparable.”

The brunet bit down on his bottom lip. “Even so, I am sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Murtagh shrugged. “He was just making sure I wasn’t my father.”

Eragon looked down. He looked oddly troubled.

“...If that was all, I’d like to get changed.”

“No!” Eragon blushed and looked down again. “I mean, you can change. But I – I have more questions, if that’s ok.”

Murtagh paused. He had to wonder what was going on. “Certainly. Just wait here.”

Eragon gave a meek nod.

Murtagh headed into his bedroom and shed his work clothes. He didn’t bother with much; just a pair of jeans and a sweater that covered his arms. He wondered if he should invite Eragon inside if he wanted to talk more. While Tornac was probably not listening in, it would give them some more privacy.

Something told him this wasn’t going to be a pleasant talk.

Murtagh headed out and found Eragon with a lapful of Fenris. The feline was purring and butting her head into Eragon’s hand.

“She likes you.”

Eragon looked up with a shy smile. “Yeah, I guess.” He scratched Fenris behind her ears. “I didn’t know Tornac had a cat.”

“Technically he doesn’t,” Murtagh said and leaned against the doorway. “She’s mine. Tornac gave her to me.”

Eragon continued to pet Fenris. He seemed more relaxed now. Murtagh wasn’t surprised. Fenris could work her magic on just about anyone if she wanted to be petted badly enough.

“What’s her name?”

“Fenris.”

Eragon looked up with a shocked look on his face.

“You heard right.” Murtagh could feel a small smirk pull on his lips. “Tornac picked her up at the rescue centre. Her previous owner didn’t care that she was female or didn’t know. I didn’t feel like changing it.”

“Oh.” Eragon looked down at Fenris, still looking a bit shocked. “She doesn’t really live up to the name, though.”

“I don’t mind. I’d rather she didn’t start eating me, thank you very much.”

Eragon let out a startled laugh. 

Murtagh realised suddenly that he hadn’t heard Eragon laugh before. It was a very warm and genuine sound.

“Thorn warned me you could joke, but I’ve never heard it before,” Eragon murmured and put Fenris down on the floor.

The feline rubbed against Eragon’s leg before trotting off into the kitchen. Murtagh felt a little miffed at being ignored.

“Do you want to talk in my room?” Murtagh asked. “I don’t expect Tornac to be eavesdropping, but...”

Eragon swallowed. He gave a nod and stood.

Murtagh slipped back into his room and sat down on his bed. 

Eragon hovered in the doorway. He closed the door and looked at everything except Murtagh.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much else for you to sit on.”

Eragon nodded almost absently. He walked over and sat down next to Murtagh.

At least a minute passed by in silence.

“You wanted to talk?” Murtagh prompted.

The brunet nodded again, his eyes on his hands. “Did you move here because something bad happened?”

Murtagh could hear the echo of their past conversation. 

“...I don’t want to worry about you, Murtagh. But I do. I hardly know you, and I worry so fucking much.”

Apparently Eragon hadn’t been kidding.

“That guy that came to see me,” Murtagh said, stumbling a little over his words and hating himself for it. “He sent me a letter. Tornac felt that it was best I move in with him for now.”

Murtagh’s eyes were firmly planted on the wall opposite him, but he could feel Eragon’s worried gaze.

“I can handle it.”

Eragon snorted, but didn’t speak.

“...If I mentioned any names, don’t rely them to anyone,” Murtagh said and looked at Eragon out of the corner of his eye. “What we say stays between the two of us.”

He saw Eragon nod.

“Thank you.”

Another silence reigned. Murtagh saw that Eragon’s eyes were firmly locked on his hands. If Eragon had more questions on his mind, he seemed even more reluctant to utter them.

He meant to ask if Eragon was leaving, but he didn’t get quite that far. Instead he asked a different question, one that had been in the back of his mind ever since he had seen Eragon. 

“Why do you see Angela?”

\----

An eternity seemed to pass after his question. Murtagh didn’t know what had possessed him to speak up in the first place, but he had.

Murtagh couldn’t deny that he wanted to know the answer, but Eragon seemed to guard his secrets even closer than Murtagh. He didn’t expect an answer and prepared to apologise for the rude question.

Before he could, Eragon looked up to meet his eyes. There was a determination in there that Murtagh hadn’t seen before.

“It’s a long story,” Eragon began softly.

Murtagh felt his eyes widen. He couldn’t believe that Eragon was actually going to answer his question.

“Most of my family is pretty religious,” Eragon explained and looked down at his hands. “My parents weren’t deeply religious, but my mom went to church when she could and prayed regularly. Dad is an agnostic, but he loved mom too much to let something like faith come between them. Besides, mom didn’t care about his lack of religion any more than he cared about her devotion.” 

Eragon was wringing his hands again. Whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him. Murtagh stayed silent and hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by opening his mouth.

“Saphira and I are like dad, but mom didn’t care about that either. She believed that everyone should have a choice in what to believe in and that God loved you even if you didn’t believe in Him.” 

Eragon bit his lip. He was hesitating. Murtagh opened his mouth to tell him that he could stop, but paused. Eragon looked like he needed this. He closed his mouth and waited.

“I found out I was gay when I was twelve, the same year my mom died,” he whispered hoarsely. “Having grown up around her side of the family, I knew how much of a sin it was to them. I knew that there was little else that disgusted them as much as homosexuality.”

Murtagh almost wanted to laugh. He could remember their encounter at the bridal shop. He had thought Eragon homophobic then. How wrong he had been.

Eragon had just been new to his sexuality and not comfortable with the label.

“I didn’t know what to make of it. My cousin, who has basically been like a brother to Saphira and me, was a raging homophobe. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me since I didn’t like girls. Boys my age was just starting to find girls really interesting, but I had never done that. I had always liked boys better.” Eragon licked his lips and clenched his hands.

Murtagh stayed silent. He wondered what it was like to go through that. He had never looked at anyone, male or female. Things at home had put him off sex. Even when his hormones were at their highest, Murtagh comforted himself rather than to turn to someone else.

Eragon was silent for a few minutes. Murtagh supposed he was gathering the courage he needed to carry on. “Saphira found out somehow. I never could hide anything from her. She has supported me ever since and even encouraged me to tell my parents.”

There was a small pause that Eragon used to steel himself and seemed to remember to breathe.

“They took it really well. Dad said that he didn’t care who or what I liked, as long as it was legal. Mom was supportive as well. She said that God created everyone the way they are for a reason and that He loved everyone equally. Basically, she didn’t have a problem with it, and said she would have supported me anyway. I cried and hugged her.”

Eragon swallowed. Murtagh knew he was struggling with some emotions just then. 

“My family didn’t find out about my sexuality until a few months after mom died.” 

He envied Eragon a little. He couldn’t remember his mother much. He just remembered her soft voice and long dark hair. Everything else was lost in a haze of hurt and pain and his father’s angered face.

He forced those thoughts away as Eragon continued to speak.

“It was a car accident. Mom had picked me up from school and it was practically storming. The wet road made her lose control of the car. She –” 

Eragon bit his lip. Murtagh knew he was fighting hard against crying. His eyes were almost shining with tears.

“She died instantly. I escaped with a broken arm, leg and a few cracked ribs. I still have scars from where the window glass pierced my skin,” he whispered. “I don’t know how my family found out, but they did. They blamed me.” Eragon’s voice was getting throatier. Murtagh hoped he actually wouldn’t start to cry. “They said that God was punishing them for letting their daughter marry a blasphemer like Brom and having a blasphemous child like me,” he choked out.

He was actually crying now. Instead of feeling uncomfortable, Murtagh just felt sorry for him. He put a hand on Eragon’s shoulder. The brunet jolted and seemed even more intent on staring at his hands. Murtagh let his hand stay there and just waited.

“My grandparents disowned us. My aunt and uncle ignored us. My cousin said that I would go to hell.” 

There was another pause. When he continued, he sounded even more wretched. “Dad was helpless. He had lost mom, the love of his life, and her family had turned their back on him because of me,” he whispered brokenly. “He didn’t know what to do.”

Eragon closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders. The back of Murtagh’s hand brushed against his ear. Murtagh felt a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a while. He wondered what it meant.

“He got depressed. There were days when he could hardly get out of bed,” Eragon continued. “I started to blame myself. I started to think that my family was right and that I was an abomination. I started to believe that it should have been me that should have died in that accident.”

Murtagh’s grip tightened slightly. Sometimes he really hated humanity. There was a reason he didn’t believe in religion either. People often used it as an excuse to act hateful. 

The world was a bad enough place without people finding excuses to hurt and hate others.

“I actually tried to kill myself,” he whispered. Murtagh saw that his hands were shaking now. “That actually woke dad up. He moved us to Carvahall and contacted Angela. He scheduled appointments for all of us.”

Murtagh had never tried to kill himself except for that one time in prison. His mind had been filled with images of his father and he had believed he would never get away. Death had seemed like the only escape.

He realised he didn’t quite feel like that anymore. Who knew what waited in death’s embrace? He would rather wait to find out.

“Saphira only went to a couple appointments. She had no problems dealing with the grief. She just worried about dad and me.” Eragon brushed away his tears before continuing. “It took dad two years to stop seeing Angela. He was really crushed. He didn’t know what to do without mom and how to continue raising Saphira and I on his own. Then there was me and how he was supposed to support me.” 

Eragon sniffled. Murtagh almost pulled back his hand, but stopped himself. Eragon hadn’t objected yet.

“It wasn’t that easy with me. It still isn’t easy with me,” he said. “There are days when I blame myself for mom’s death. I didn’t really feel comfortable about my sexuality until two years ago, when I turned nineteen. Before then, I still wasn’t sure if it was ok for me to be gay or not. I didn’t approach boys until just recently. It just felt...wrong.”

Murtagh almost wanted to laugh. He knew what that felt like. Some days he blamed himself so much that it hurt to even get out of bed, and he wasn’t anywhere close to figuring himself out sexually.

“Angela has helped me to realise who I am and that it’s ok to be that person. I wouldn’t have been able to do that on my own.”

Murtagh pulled back his hand. It felt oddly cold, but he could ignore it.

“And that’s my life’s story, really,” Eragon said and gave a weak smile. “I know you didn’t ask to hear all of that, but –”

“It’s all connected,” Murtagh interrupted softly.

Eragon looked at him. Murtagh could read the gratitude in his eyes, the understanding. 

It seemed like they were more alike than they had previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book “The Rule of Four” is written by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason.


	12. Sulphur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologise for taking forever with uploading this, as well as my other stories here. Real life gets in the way far too easily. The reason this chapter is late is because it took forever to write. Hopefully I can keep up this "posting a little every day" thing I have going now and be up-to-date on both of my accounts before long. Here's to hoping.
> 
> If you're interested in more notes about me and my writing habits, visit my tumblr (sussiekitten.tumblr.com) for more information.

Things had changed that evening. Their relationship, if it could be called such, had changed. Murtagh wasn’t sure what it meant, but knew that only time would tell.

He hadn’t moved since Eragon’s departure an hour ago. Murtagh had to admit that he was surprised. He might have guessed that Eragon had struggled with his sexuality, but he could never have guessed the reasons behind it all.

Murtagh came from a religious part of Urû’baen, but his parents had never been a part of the religious community. At least, Morzan hadn’t. Murtagh couldn’t remember if his mother had been particularly religious. If she had been, that part of their life had died with her. But having grown up in such a religious community helped Murtagh understand the mentality of Eragon’s extended family.

It disgusted him. Narrow-minded people had always disgusted him. They didn’t even have to be religious, but people that used faith as an excuse to judge and damn others disgusted him just a bit more than the others.

He felt for Eragon. It was weird to say it, but he did. Murtagh knew what it was like to have your family turn against you. 

“Did you have a good talk?”

Murtagh looked up. Despite Eragon having left earlier, Tornac hadn’t immediately sought him out. Somehow Murtagh was not surprised.

“Define good.”

Tornac walked into the room and sat down in Eragon’s old spot. “He seemed apologetic. Did he come here to apologise?”

“For his father.” Murtagh looked at his friend. “I shouldn’t ask, right?”

Tornac gave a tired sigh. “You know what your father was like. Brom and I knew him years before that man emerged. We also knew him when that man took over.”

Murtagh was glad Tornac stopped there. The thought that his father had somehow been ‘human’ before...

No, it just wasn’t possible.

“Brom shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

Murtagh shook his head. “I don’t blame him.”

Tornac put a hand on Murtagh’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Murtagh.”

He didn’t answer.

“You are,” Tornac repeated. “Whether you believe it or not.”

Murtagh let him believe that. 

-:-

Things fell into an uneven rhythm as the winter slowly moved towards spring. Murtagh constantly felt the chill that came from Galbatorix’s ghost. Whenever he started to feel safe, he would close up; worried that something might happen. It was like an everlasting circle that refused to be broken.

But some things were different. Eragon didn’t seem hell-bent on avoiding him anymore. He went back to showing up at the bar with Aksel again. Saphira was understandably more absent. Thorn kept Murtagh updated. She was due in March, a month that seemed so close and yet so far away.

Murtagh told Angela about his encounter with Eragon during his next session. She seemed very happy about their progress. She encouraged him to keep in touch with Eragon privately, certain that they could somehow work through things together. 

He could understand why she thought that, but he couldn’t quite agree. Eragon was definitely more recovered than him. Unless Angela thought Eragon could somehow ‘help’ Murtagh with his sexuality, if there was even a problem there to begin with, Murtagh wasn’t sure what she was insinuating. 

No. It was more likely that she wanted them both to be friends. Apparently everyone needed them.

Because his other thought, that his shrink was trying to play a matchmaker, was simply ridiculous.

-:-

Murtagh hated Valentine’s Day. He had already survived one such event outside of prison, and that had been one time too many.

Arya was either a fan of the holiday or the saying was true and women were diabolical. Murtagh was more inclined to believe the latter. 

This year, as the one before it, Arya had decorated the bar in red, pink and white. Paper hearts were everywhere. She thankfully hadn’t made them change their uniform, though she had instructed them to wear something red or pink in celebration of the ‘holiday’. 

Murtagh had gotten away with wearing a black and red shirt last year. This year he had hoped to escape the holiday all-together.

“You know we’re understaffed every holiday season, Valentine’s Day included,” she told him when he asked.

Murtagh tried not to groan. He had suspected as much, but that hadn’t stopped him from hoping.

“I know you aren’t very fond of your fans, but they keep the cash flowing. Who am I to say no to that?”

And so he had to work Valentine’s Day that year too. 

-:-

It continued to amaze him just how packed the bar could be on Valentine’s Day. Bars didn’t seem like a typical ‘date’ place. Then again, it seemed like most of the people there were looking to hook up rather than enjoying an evening out with their significant other.

And today, just like last year, people kept talking to him nonstop. Murtagh was not amused.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” a guy asked while Murtagh fixed his drink. 

He didn’t even blink. It wasn’t the first line he had been served that night, and it was probably not going to be the last. Murtagh would never be able to see himself through the eyes of others, and that was probably for the best. He didn’t have to think of himself as attractive as long as he knew that others thought of him that way.

He passed the guy his drink without answering. Murtagh had found that it was best not to answer if someone fed him a line. If he didn’t react, then they usually moved on.

He looked up when the door opened. It was surprisingly mild outside, had been for the past week. He barely felt the February air seep inside before the door could be closed.

He was surprised when he saw the two new arrivals. Both were bundled up in sensible coats. Aksel’s hair was wilder than usual as he pulled down his hood. Eragon’s cheeks were flushed from the cold.

Aksel waved enthusiastically to Arya as he pulled Eragon towards a vacant booth. Murtagh’s gaze met Eragon’s for a brief second; enough for him to see Eragon’s blush deepen before the connection was broken. Then there was yet another customer trying to chat him up while ordering a drink Murtagh actually had to check was real. It certainly hadn’t sounded like anything drinkable.

It took a few minutes before either of the two approached the bar. Murtagh was only slightly surprised that it was Eragon. 

“No big date tonight?” he asked.

Eragon fiddled with his sleeve. The blush hadn’t disappeared completely. “Uh, no. I’m not really into the whole dating thing.”

“Tell me about it.”

Eragon just ducked his head and rattled off his order. Murtagh started to prepare it.

“And Aksel?” he prompted.

The brunet jolted and looked up. He looked confused as well as flustered.

“Last I heard he had a stoic boyfriend.”

“Oh, Vanir is working tonight,” Eragon explained. “Saphira’s on forced bed-rest and besides, we haven’t done the whole friendship-Valentine’s thing since she and Thorn got together. So it’s just him and me.”

Murtagh nodded. He finished Aksel’s fruity cocktail before starting on Eragon’s virgin drink.

“What about you?”

Murtagh paused. He forced himself back into motion and grabbed a tall glass. “My evening is probably going to be even less interesting than yours.”

Eragon blinked. “You don’t have a date?” he blurted out, before looking shocked and very sorry.

“It’s alright,” Murtagh said and put Eragon’s drink on the counter. “I don’t have a date, and I prefer it that way.”

Eragon looked down. He gave a slight nod, but didn’t say anything.

Murtagh hesitated briefly. He shook himself out of it and rattled off the price. Within moments the drinks were paid for and Eragon had disappeared into the crowd.

Arya approached him roughly an hour or so later. “Something you want to tell me, Murtagh?” she asked and leaned against the counter. One of her eyebrows was crocked so sharply Murtagh had no doubt someone could cut themselves on it.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said simply. 

The Valentine’s crowd was starting to thin out a bit. Most of the earlier crowd had left and few had come in to take their place. But that didn’t stop Murtagh from feeling glad that he was off at nine and not at closing time.

“So those little chats with Eragon are just that? Chats?” 

Murtagh crocked an eyebrow back. Arya rarely popped her head out of her office unless the bar was understaffed of there was some sort of commotion. Granted, they were understaffed tonight, but not enough that she should have had cause to stare at him for a better part of the night.

Because she must have kept a close eye on him to have caught the three times he had mixed drinks for Eragon that night. It hadn’t taken more than three or so minutes out of his evening thus far.

“What else are they supposed to be?” he asked.

“Flirting?” she drawled. 

Murtagh wanted to laugh. Sure, he knew when people were flirting with him, but he never flirted back. It went against his whole asexual agenda.

“No,” he answered simply. “It was just talking.”

“You never talk to customers.”

“I do when I know them.”

Arya didn’t look entirely convinced, but let it go. Murtagh shook his head and went to take the next order.

The evening wore on. Murtagh almost sent out a small prayer when the clock showed fifteen minutes left of his shift. He was more than ready to go home after six hours on shift, listening to love songs and all sorts of advantages.

Murtagh fixed up his last drink before going into the back with a crate of empty bottles. 

He wondered if Tornac had any plans for the evening. While Tornac had not mentioned any plans, he couldn’t be sure.

Murtagh tried to imagine Tornac out on a date and almost had to laugh. It felt weird, like imagining his parents dating. 

It was a sobering thought. Tornac felt much more like a father than Morzan ever had. It wasn’t hard to understand why, but it was a sobering thought nonetheless. It was just another reminder that he hadn’t had a real childhood or a real family growing up.

He grabbed his things and put away his apron. He needed to get home before his thoughts got any darker.

-:-

Outside the air had grown cold enough that it stung just a bit on every inhale. Murtagh took a deep breath and felt a little cleaner, somehow.

There weren’t many people on the street. Most of them were probably at home or enjoying a nice little date-type thing indoors somewhere, much like the people still at the bar.

Murtagh looped the scarf around his neck. He wondered briefly whether or not he should send a text to Tornac to let him know he was on the way. Tornac hadn’t said anything about having a date, but Murtagh couldn’t be sure.

He was rounding the building just when the front door opened and two silhouettes walked out of the bar. 

“- sure you’re gonna be ok, man?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Go and meet up with your boyfriend. That’s what today is all about, isn’t it?”

Murtagh was not particularly surprised he knew them. It seemed like fate was determined to throw him at people he knew until he gave in and was social.

There was a lamppost just next to them. As he walked closer, Murtagh could see that Aksel was fidgeting. He never seemed quite sure where to put his hands. The warm yellow light cast a shadow over half of his face, but Murtagh could make out the tip of his nose, eyes the same shade as his sister’s.

Eragon, as a contrast, stood completely still, body shrouded in darkness. Murtagh wouldn’t have been able to identify him if he hadn’t recognised Eragon’s voice. 

“All right, but lemme walk you home, at least.”

“Aksel, I’ll be fine. Go.”

Aksel rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine, fine. I’ll – woah, hey there!”

Eragon turned around. Murtagh caught a flash of his wide eyes and open mouth before he was in the dark again.

“Oh. Hi.”

Murtagh nodded to them.

“Hey, you’re off now?” Aksel asked, visibly perking up. “Cos Aggie here could use a buddy to talk him home, and -”

“Aksel!”

Murtagh was close enough that he could see the redness in Eragon’s cheeks and Aksel’s half-grin.

“Aksel, I’ll be fine!” Eragon insisted. “Just go to Vanir! He’s waiting for you.”

Aksel shrugged easily. He bumped shoulders with Eragon before taking off. “See ya later!”

Eragon rubbed a hand over his face. Murtagh was almost tempted to laugh at how flustered he looked.

“He can be a bit much at times, but...” Eragon looked up, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip. “I wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

Murtagh felt his hands flex in his pockets. “You two must be close.”

“Yeah.” Eragon’s voice was soft, almost inaudible. “We’ve been through hell together.”

Murtagh didn’t know what to make of that. He only knew so much about Eragon, even after everything. He didn’t know any of Eragon’s favourites, his hobbies or even what courses he was taking at the college, but he knew why there was always a sadness in his eyes. It felt like they had skipped all the steps in a normal friendship and somehow ended up in the middle without knowing how.

He did know how, though. Angela. Murtagh couldn’t say how their friendship would have evolved if it hadn’t been for her sessions. They would have been forced together nonetheless, because of Thorn and Saphira. But would they have put up with each other and nothing else if they hadn’t met beforehand? Would they have actually been friends?

Somehow Murtagh doubted it. This tentative thing that they had wouldn’t have existed without Angela’s interference. His antisocial whims would have seen to that.

“Which way are you going?”

Eragon’s eyes widened. A gust of wind ruffled up his hair even further. The rips of his ears were as red as his cheeks. “What?”

“I’m not going to offer to walk you to your door, but if we’re going in the same direction, there’s no harm in it.” Murtagh shrugged.

Eragon licked his lips. “You don’t have to.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you can pretend you’re the one walking me home.” Murtagh checked for any cars before crossing the street. 

He heard Eragon scrambling to follow him. He heard him slip slightly, but he was already righting himself by the time Murtagh turned to check on him. 

Eragon caught up with him, walking beside him, close enough to see but not feel. “That really doesn’t make me feel better,” he stuttered out.

Before he knew what he was doing, Murtagh found himself laughing. It was a new and not entirely unpleasant sensation. His mouth curled up into a smile. He didn’t quite recognise himself. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had laughed like that. 

When he turned to Eragon, he saw that Eragon had fallen behind. Murtagh turned around.

Eragon’s eyes were huge. His mouth had fallen open again. The lamppost nearby gave him enough light to see that Eragon’s cheeks, which had been red before, were positively burning now.

“You all right?”

Eragon swallowed. He nodded his head sharply. 

Murtagh wasn’t quite sure what to make of the reaction. He pushed it away and opted to carry on. Eragon was quick to catch up with him.

“I, um, I haven’t heard you laugh before,” Eragon said almost shyly.

Murtagh kept his eyes on the road ahead. “I haven’t had a lot to laugh about lately.”

Eragon was silent. On their next step, Eragon moved a little closer. Murtagh could sense him there beside him.

His voice, when it came a few minutes later, was so quiet that Murtagh almost didn’t hear it. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault.” Murtagh glanced at him. “Don’t let me get you down.”

Eragon just shrugged, shoulders set in an obviously uncomfortable stance.

They parted ways a few blocks from Tornac’s street. Judging by the look on Eragon’s face, he still had some ways to go, but he was prepared to do the walk alone.

“Good night.”

He looked startled. “Uh, to you too.”

Murtagh let another smile bleed through. “And Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Eragon was clearly blushing now. He stumbled down his street, still a little awkward. “Happy Valentine’s.”

Murtagh carried on, listening with half an ear to Eragon’s halting steps through the snow. They grew fainter and fainter until he couldn’t hear them at all.

When Murtagh turned right and walked up to Tornac’s porch, he was still smiling.

-:-

“You’ve been here for almost two years now.”

It was just starting to snow behind Angela. Murtagh found himself focusing on that rather than her face. He would have to walk in that. If he was lucky, it wouldn’t escalate before he got home. The snowfall seemed to have evened out after Valentine’s. It was March already and while it wasn’t spring weather yet, it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been the year before. 

“Do you know what you’re going to do when your probation is over?”

Murtagh met her gaze.

He honestly didn’t. He hadn’t even given it any thought. If he did, he was afraid of what he might do.

“No.”

She hummed. “I suppose it’s a little premature yet.” 

He nodded.

She fell silent. She hadn’t written down anything since his arrival. Murtagh wasn’t sure what that was supposed to signify.

“I like it here,” he found himself admitting.

Angela visibly paused. He couldn’t quite make out what emotion she was displaying. All he knew was that it wasn’t bad.

“I have friends here, a job I wouldn’t mind continuing.” He licked his lips. “But I’m not sure if I’d ever feel safe here.”

Murtagh cut himself off. He could feel himself slipping into dangerous territory. He pulled himself back and forced himself to let that thought go.

“Somehow I’m getting the feeling that you’re not sure you’d feel safe anywhere.”

Sometimes Murtagh really hated how observant she could be.

“It’s not something I think about.”

Angela visibly didn’t approve of that. “It’s something you should think about, especially with the end of your probation just around the corner.”

The wall to Angela’s left suddenly became very interesting. “Then I’ll think about it then. Not before. Not when I can’t do anything about it yet.”

“Just make sure you do,” she said firmly. “This is not something that you can ignore. If you really feel threatened, then you have to do something about it.”

Murtagh knew that. By God, he did.

But he was still going to ignore it for as long as he could.

-:-

The phone rang one day in late March. Murtagh heard Tornac pick it up just as he walked through the door.

“Tornac Holme speaking.”

Murtagh stepped out of his shoes and took off his jacket. 

“He just walked through the door. One second.”

Murtagh frowned. Someone was calling for him? He could count the times that had happened on one hand and still have fingers to spare.

Tornac rounded the corner with the cordless in hand. “It’s Thorn.”

Murtagh accepted the phone. For a split second he was scared, scared that somehow they had come after Thorn to scare him. Scared that this was Thorn calling, voice desperate and pained, leaving his parting words before Galbatorix shot him.

It was enough to make his heart stop beating. Murtagh almost forgot to breathe. 

That was when Thorn’s voice wafted into his ear, breathless and full of excitement. _“- having the baby!”_

Suddenly he could breathe again. “Already?”

_“She’s only a few days early,”_ Thorn said. _“We’ve been waiting for it.”_

“Congratulations.” 

Thorn laughed. Murtagh didn’t think he had ever heard him sound so happy before. _“It’s a little premature, but thank you.”_

“Are you at the hospital already?”

When he looked up, Tornac’s face was painfully sober. Murtagh had forgotten about him entirely. No doubt he had seen Murtagh’s near panic-attack.

Great.

_“We got here about ten minutes ago.”_ Thorn paused. _“I was actually calling to ask if you two wanted to join us.”_

Murtagh hadn’t been in a hospital since Morzan had broken his clavicle, at age seventeen. There had been a quick trip to the E.R. while he had been in police custody after his father’s murder, and a few visits to the prison infirmary while he had been locked up, but it wasn’t the same. 

Hospitals represented death, despair and lying, lying until he couldn’t speak anymore. He could already smell the stench of decay and disease.

But this was Thorn. This was the birth of Thorn’s child. His best friend wanted him to come.

_“Murtagh?”_

He took a deep breath. “We’ll be there.”

_“Are you sure?”_ Thorn wasn’t allowed to sound worried. Not for Murtagh, not on the day when his first child was being born.

“Yes.” If he hadn’t needed to change, Murtagh would have stepped right into his shoes and walked out before he could change his mind. “We’ll be there soon.”

_“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”_

Murtagh said a few parting words before ending the call. He walked past Tornac, passing him the phone as he did so.

“Murtagh -”

“I just need to change, then we can go.”

Tornac didn’t try to stop him again.

-;-

Murtagh hadn’t been in Tornac’s car often, even after having moved in with him. He preferred to walk, or taking the bus if he had to. He had a driver’s licence, not that he’d ever really taken advantage of it. He barely even spared it a thought. But with the baby on the way, even Murtagh saw the advantage of having a car at the ready.

The ride to the hospital was painfully quiet. Murtagh was surprised by that, but he supposed Tornac wanted to have a proper conversation about what he had seen, not some quick words of assurance two minutes before they reached their destination.

Tornac cared about him, sometimes too much for his own damn good.

Tornac pulled up by the hospital. They were lucky enough to find a spot not too far from the entrance. Tornac put the car in park and turned off the ignition.

Murtagh was prepared for Tornac to pull out the keys and exit the car, but he didn’t. For a minute he did nothing. He sighed, though it sounded more like it had been pulled from him rather than let out voluntarily. 

“Shall we go and welcome the little one into the world?”

Murtagh unbuckled his belt and stepped out. 

Tornac didn’t need to say anything else. That one sentence had been enough. He wasn’t letting the subject go.

-:-

Thorn met them in the lobby. His hair was in disarray, like he had been running his hands through it nonstop. He was pale, but clearly excited.

“You made it.”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Tornac assured him. “Now, maybe we should head on back to the maternity ward?”

“Um, yeah, yeah.” Thorn rubbed at the back of his neck. “Follow me.”

Murtagh couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering as they headed deeper into the hospital, past a nurse station and through a set of double doors. The hospital was light and airy, the floors shiny and the walls painted in a pale, warm colour. But underneath all that, he could smell just a hint of bleach. It wasn’t enough to bring back any memories; not yet.

Hopefully, considering where they were going, the smells would remain different enough for him to hold it together.

The maternity ward’s waiting room had a good few occupants in it, seated in groups all around the room, but Thorn seemed to know where he was going. Murtagh didn’t know who else Thorn had called, but he knew that Jocelyn had to be there.

Thorn headed around a large family, leaving Tornac and Murtagh to follow. Thorn and whoever was with him seemed to have camped out close to the doors leading to actual ward, where Murtagh could hear faint screaming from someone he hoped was a mother-to-be. The chairs he could see were lined with some sort of herringbone material and didn’t look particularly comfortable. 

They ducked around the family just as the doors opened. Jocelyn and Eragon stepped out. Eragon looked almost green, but Jocelyn was as calm as ever.

Murtagh barely had a chance to register Eragon’s presence before he saw that Brom was there too. He fell behind before he even registered that he had stopped walking.

“The doctor said it’s time,” he could hear Jocelyn say to Thorn, her voice soft and almost distorted, as if all of this was just a dream. “Saphira would really like it if you were there with her.”

Eragon walked over to his father’s side, still looking a little green. Brom said something to him, but Murtagh couldn’t hear what.

“Christ, already?” Thorn asked, and suddenly he looked more nauseous than anything else. “I’m not ready for this, am I? I’m not ready to have a kid.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re ready or not, that kid isn’t waiting for anyone,” Jocelyn said bluntly and patted her son’s bicep. “Off you go.”

Tornac turned and saw him just standing there. His face was wrought with conflict, but he visibly put a lid on it and waved Murtagh forward. 

Murtagh forced himself to move. He took one step, then another. Soon enough he was standing beside Tornac, hoping almost against hope that he looked blank. Looking calm was out of the question.

Thorn looked up and met his gaze. He was starting to look a little panicked.

“You’ll be fine,” Murtagh forced out.

Three sets of eyes were instantly on him. He didn’t care about them. They weren’t important right now.

“You should go. She needs you.”

Thorn nodded numbly. “I’ll, uh, I’ll keep you posted,” he said to the room at large, but most likely just for their benefit. He still seemed a bit in shock when he made his way through the double-doors and was gone.

Jocelyn approached him first. She hadn’t changed much since the wedding. Her hair was still fiercely red and she still oozed that motherly feeling she always had.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she said and pulled him into a hug. The force of it made him feel like he was going to end up doubled over her, though he was hardly tall enough for that.

For a minute, Murtagh let himself be swept up in her embrace and forget about the fucked-up shit that made up his life.

Jocelyn pulled back and instantly started to fix his clothes, tutting softly. “What on earth is this? You look like you’re wearing your pyjamas.”

Tornac coughed, but Murtagh knew he was just using it to hide his laugh. “It’s nice to see you again too, Mrs. Marron.”

Jocelyn stopped tugging on his clothes only to send Tornac a half-amused half-reprimanding look. “And I’ve told you time and time again that it’s Jocelyn to you, boy.” 

“My apologies,” Tornac said smoothly. 

Jocelyn tutted again. She led him over to a couple of vacant chairs and forced him to sit down. 

Tornac took a seat as well, on the other side of Murtagh. Jocelyn made herself comfortable in-between Eragon and Murtagh.

“What had you all green around the gills, Eragon?” Tornac asked.

Eragon stammered, looking ready to start puking then and there. “I-If I didn’t know I was gay before this, seeing that - never mind that Saph is my sister - would have cemented that fact.”

Tornac laughed loudly.

Jocelyn scoffed. “That was nothing. You should have seen Thorn when he started to crown. That boy has always been big for his age.”

Eragon buried his head in his hands and visibly tried to scrub away the unfortunate scene that must be playing in his mind.

“You know Jocelyn, you scare me on a good day,” Tornac told her.

“Good. Then my job here is done.”

Murtagh rested his hands on his knees and settle in to wait.

-;-

The actual birth didn’t take too long. Thorn returned no more than half an hour later, red-faced but somehow glowing, a big grin on his face. “It’s a girl.”

Jocelyn was up on her feet in an instant, grabbing his face with both of her hands and kissing each cheek soundly. Thorn seemed too dazed to stop her.

Brom stood. He walked over and clasped Thorn’s shoulder firmly. “Congratulations, son.”

Murtagh hadn’t actually spoken to Brom since his arrival, but then again he hadn’t spoken to Eragon either. It didn’t seem to bother either of them, and it certainly didn’t bother him.

“How is Saph?” Eragon asked.

“And my granddaughter,” Jocelyn added, chest puffed out just a little, acting every inch of a proud grandma.

“Saph’s resting and they’re looking the little one over,” Thorn said, looking rather tired himself. “I think you can see them soon.”

“Well, you be sure to let us know,” Jocelyn said firmly.

“Of course, mom.”

Thorn ducked behind the doors again. Another man came out right after Thorn and hurried over to his closest, chattering away excitedly. Murtagh filtered out his voice without even trying.

“Well, as long as we’re here, we might as well hang around until we can see them,” Tornac said, softly, most likely just meant for Murtagh’s ears.

Murtagh would have preferred that they left, but he supposed he could stick around. He had never seen a new-born before, not in real life. He knew the ones used on screen were far too big to even pass as new-born.

In case Tornac was waiting for an answer, Murtagh gave a mute nod.

He vaguely registered Tornac standing up and walking over to join in on Jocelyn and Brom’s conversation. 

He felt someone take Tornac’s place. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. It could only be one person.

“Are you ok?”

He rolled his shoulders. “Why do you ask?”

Perhaps not the most reassuring of responses, but at least it was one.

“You’ve been more quiet than usual,” Eragon said softly.

Murtagh looked at the opposite wall. There was a picture there of a jolly clown. He was surprised to find that it actually freaked him out a bit, in a weird way. “I haven’t had anything to say.”

“I think it’s more than that.” Eragon’s voice was barely above a whisper. Murtagh had to strain his ears to catch what he was saying. “Just promise you’ll talk to someone about it.”

“Trust me, Tornac’s not going to leave me alone until I do,” Murtagh found himself saying, voice dry, almost wryly amused.

Eragon stifled something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, if not a giggle. Murtagh felt his mouth quirk up just a little. 

“Just -” 

Eragon paused, enough for Murtagh to look up and meet his gaze.

Eragon was biting his lip, looking painfully uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure if it was his place to pry. “Just...could you tell me if it has to do with my dad?”

Murtagh fell silent. 

“He really is sorry, you know,” he rushed to say. “He’s just very stubborn. He can barely apologise to save his life.”

“It’s fine.” Murtagh flexed his hands and wondered just when he had clenched them so hard they hurt. “It’s not all about him, I can say as much.”

Eragon nodded, looking a little relieved but mostly something else that Murtagh couldn’t interpret.

“They’re letting us in three at a time,” Tornac said, breaking up whatever spell had fallen over them. Murtagh looked up at met Tornac’s mild gaze. “Do you want to go first?”

Murtagh felt his eyes move past Tornac’s shoulder, where he found Brom looking their way. His face was carefully neutral, but his eyes kept flickering between him and Eragon. Brom obviously hadn’t missed their talk, even if he had been wrapped up in one of his own.

“No.” Murtagh looked back at Tornac. “I can wait. I’m sure the grandparents would rather go first.”

“That’s very generous of you, dear,” Jocelyn said and patted his cheek. Somehow she had wandered over without him even noticing it.

“It’s what’s right.”

Jocelyn gave him such a fond look that Murtagh almost choked up. It was weird, even now, one and a half years out of jail, to look up and realise people actually cared about him and weren’t afraid to show it.

She leaned down and kissed his cheek before wandering off, grabbing Brom’s arm as she went. Despite Brom having several inches on her, he was pulled along, looking almost bemused.

Tornac gave him a look that practically made Murtagh able to count down the hours until he was sat down and forced to talk.

He couldn’t wait.

-;-

Eragon had been dragged in to visit after Thorn had wandered out in search of ice-chips, of all things. When Thorn came back, he pulled Tornac and Murtagh along.

Apparently it was their turn now.

Murtagh’s eyes met Eragon’s on the way out, then Brom’s. Eragon looked almost flushed, but Brom’s gaze was unreadable. Murtagh was glad to walk past him and break the gaze. 

If anything, Brom’s look told Murtagh what he had already suspected; that Morzan couldn’t touch anything without breaking it.

Thorn led them to a room a little down the hall. He pushed inside and walked over to Saphira’s bedside. Murtagh and Tornac entered in time to see him put down the cup and kiss Saphira’s sweaty forehead.

Saphira smiled when she saw them. She was cradling a bundle wrapped in a pale pink blanket.

Tornac easily walked up and took the other side of her bed. He peeked down and smiled at whatever he saw, the skin around his eyes wrinkling in a way they hadn’t done in a long time. “She’s beautiful.”

Thorn beamed. “She is, isn’t she?”

Saphira just kept smiling. “Thank you.”

“Have you thought of a name for her?”

Murtagh felt himself move forward slowly. Tornac stepped back enough to let him stand at his side of the bed, close enough to see Thorn and Saphira’s precious treasure.

For a minute, Murtagh couldn’t do anything but look at the baby. He vaguely heard Thorn say something, but he didn’t register what.

The baby looked like nothing but a little red thing, truth be told. He certainly couldn’t see that she was a she from her scrunched-up face and miniscule features. The only thing he really noticed was that she was very red and that her mouth kept moving, like she was trying to open it but couldn’t. 

“Maeve?” Tornac said, right next to Murtagh’s ear, almost so close that he jumped. “That’s a good name.”

“Thank you,” Saphira said, sounding more tired each time she spoke. “We rather like it.”

Murtagh looked up and saw Thorn’s eyes flicker to meet his. “She’s...tiny.”

“I said that too,” Thorn confessed.

“She certainly didn’t feel small, coming out,” Saphira huffed.

Thorn smiled almost sheepishly.

Murtagh and Tornac didn’t linger long. Saphira obviously needed to sleep, and Tornac clearly meant the new parents needed some alone time with their new daughter before they were forced out into the real world.

So they left, leaving Thorn and Saphira there, looking down at their daughter like she was the most precious thing in the entire world.

-;-

Tornac was quiet on the drive back, only confirming Murtagh’s suspicion that whatever talk he was preparing wouldn’t be unleashed until they were safely inside the house’s four walls.

The drive back was quieter in a different way. There was less tension and more tiredness, even though they had only been at the hospital for an hour. Time moved differently in a hospital, or so Murtagh had always thought. Minutes always seemed like hours, hours always seemed like days.

Before long, Tornac was pulling up in the driveway and killing the transmission. He didn’t hesitate getting out of the car this time.

Murtagh found that he was strangely reluctant in following Tornac inside, but he forced himself to do so nonetheless. 

“I’m going to put the kettle on,” Tornac said once he had locked the door and removed his boots. “Do you want anything?”

Murtagh shook his head.

Tornac padded into the kitchen. 

Murtagh knew better than to try to escape and simply made himself comfortable on the couch.

Tornac returned quickly enough, placing a steaming mug on the table before sitting down himself. He seemed to have aged ten years on the few minutes he had been gone, and Murtagh hated that it was his fault.

“So.” Tornac picked up the mug and just held it for a moment. He didn’t continue until he had taken a tentative sip of his brew. “What happened earlier.”

Tornac had clearly picked up a few things from Angela. She didn’t always phrase her questions as questions. It made things hit in a different way, one he rarely liked.

“I assumed the worst. Isn’t that what you’re always accusing me of?”

Tornac let out a tired sigh. “You looked like you were about to have a panic attack, Murtagh.”

Murtagh looked down at the floor. He found himself starting to catalogue the individual differences to keep from commenting on Tornac’s statement.

But Tornac clearly didn’t need him to comment, as he carried on. “You need to do something about this.”

“Like what?” he asked the floor. 

“Like confront what is holding you back,” Tornac said so passionately that Murtagh felt his head snap up. 

He felt something crawling up his spine, and it was nothing good. “No.”

“Murtagh -”

“I can’t!” Murtagh wasn’t sure when his voice had gotten so loud, so vehement, but he couldn’t stop it. 

Tornac held up his hands, but it was too late. “I only -”

“I can’t stand up to him. _No one_ can. You know that!”

“You can’t keep living with this fear, Murtagh!” Tornac said so loudly, so firmly, that Murtagh found himself falling silent from the mere shock of it. “It’s going to end up killing you if you let it.”

His mouth tasted bitter, metallic almost. He had bitten down on the inside of his cheek without even realising it.

“No man is untouchable,” Tornac said, voice lower but no less firm. “No man, Murtagh.”

Murtagh stood, ignoring the way his legs seemed to give a little under his weight. “He is,” he said, voice soft and painfully defeated.

When he headed for his room, Tornac didn’t try to stop him.


	13. Atropine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank all you lovely people who have stuck with me while I've battled through the makings and unmakings of this chapter. You have earned this and more. I sincerely hope I can have the next chapter out in a much more timely fashion.
> 
> I really am so, so sorry you guys had to wait so long for this update. It doesn't please me at all to know I've had to make this apologly two chapters after each other. Unfortunately my life has had its share of ups and downs in the years I've been writing this monster, some of them more severe than others and most of them quite recently. The last couple of years I've been too busy completing my degree to even think about tackling this story, though I've thought about it frequently. And now I'll be moving temporarily for work I honestly can't say when the next chapter will be out, though I've gotten at least half of it done already so fear not. There's always hope. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> **Self-betaed. You have been warned.**

The conversation - if it could be called that - hung heavily in the air for several days. Murtagh and Tornac barely spoke, though Murtagh was willing to admit that the blame was more on his shoulders than on Tornac's. While neither of them tried to initiate anything Murtagh kept himself in his room, barely going out unless it was to go to work or get something to eat.

Tornac, on the other hand, seemed to spend a lot of his free time out of the house. Murtagh saw him once, talking to Shruikan of all people, on his way to work. They didn't see him and for that Murtagh was immensely glad.

He wasn't sure how to end the silence around the house, if he could end it. The life he'd led before his prison stint was difficult to talk about, and that was putting it mildly. He wanted to work on forgetting it, even though he knew he never could. The last thing he needed was the media circus that would flock around him again before and after he lost the case. King was untouchable. Hopefully Tornac had come to that realisation too.

-;-

"Saphira finally had the baby."

"My congratulations to them," Angela said.

Murtagh kept his eyes somewhere over her shoulder. Their last conversation seemed to hover in the room between them. The last thing Murtagh wanted was to look directly at it – or her.

"It's a girl."

"Is that what they were hoping for?" she asked.

Murtagh shrugged. His hands wouldn't stay still. They kept twisting and wringing. "I think they would have been happy with anything."

"You can relax, Murtagh."

He stiffened. He wanted to look at her, but forced himself not to.

"I won't make you talk about anything you don't want to," she continued. "Not today."

His right wrist was starting to go numb, he realised. He made himself loosen his grip on it.

"Do you know what they're going to call her?" Angela asked.

"Maeve," he answered, not even aware of opening his mouth before the name had rolled off his tongue.

"That's a pretty name."

Murtagh had nothing to say to that.

Angela, as always, was not deterred. "Do you have anything planned for the weekend?"

"Work." His hands were starting to ache again. He untangled them and grasped his knees instead. "Tornac wants me to fight."

The words were out before he could hold them back. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to bite off his tongue. He moved to stare at the carpet instead.

Angela only looked at him calmly. Murtagh couldn't see her, but he felt her eyes on him. He knew their weight, knew what it meant.

"He thinks I can pull off the impossible and win."

"Why do you think it's impossible?" she asked.

"Because some people are untouchable," Murtagh said, careful to keep his voice level. "No matter what you throw at them, they can't lose."

"How do you know he's untouchable?" Angela said very carefully.

"I just do," Murtagh bit out, gritting his teeth the second the words were out. "He wouldn't have gotten to where he is if he hadn't made himself completely bulletproof."

"And yet there's you."

Murtagh looked up sharply.

Angela looked completely unruffled. Her hands were loosely clasped on the desk in front of her. She'd taken off her glasses, though Murtagh didn't know when.

"There's something about you," she continued. "He wouldn't have reached out if he wasn't aware of what you could do to him if only you put your mind to it."

"Didn't you hear me? The man's completely bulletproof."

"Then don't go after him with bullets," Angela said calmly. "Go after him with proof."

"There isn't any!" Murtagh didn't know when he'd gotten to his feet, but that was where he was. His hands were shaking at his side.

"You are walking proof, Murtagh," she said almost kindly. "You're stubborn and determined. If you put your mind to it, he would have every reason to be scared of you."

Murtagh shook his head.

"But we don't have to talk about that," she said and leaned back. The word 'now' went unsaid. She grabbed her glasses and put them back on. "So Thorn is a father now. How do you feel about kids?"

For a minute, he did nothing. His breathing slowly returned to normal, or close enough. He sank back into the chair. "I don't really feel anything about them," he said at last.

Angela nodded.

"But I'm happy for Thorn and Saphira." He let his eyes drift over to the window again. "They seem happy."

"In the end, that's all we can really ask for," Angela said. "To be happy."

Murtagh bit his tongue again. He doubted happiness for him, but he had a sneaking suspicion that was not something he wanted to share with Angela.

At least, not out loud. That was no guarantee against Angela figuring it out for herself, but at least this way he wouldn't have spilled the beans himself. He'd done quite enough of that for one session.

-;-

As with any new parent – or so Murtagh imagined – Thorn's time had quickly become monopolised by the new arrival. But in Thorn made up for it by calling more often. He always sounded vaguely tired and often a little harried, but also undeniably happy. Murtagh didn't speak with Saphira often, but when he did she sounded the same.

Tornac kept stepping out and having what looked like secretive conversations on the phone, but Murtagh never called him out on it. A part of him was scared he knew what Tornac was doing, and so preferred to leave the whole thing alone.

Time seemed to move at a sluggish pace, and yet quickly at the same time. When Murtagh thought to look at the calendar again a whole month had somehow passed. Between one blink and the next March had faded into April and winter was starting to give way to spring.

The bar was invaded one evening in the middle of the month. Access became restricted and Murtagh was offered to take the night off to attend the party instead, but politely declined. For all that he and Eragon were...something now, they weren't quite friends. Acquaintances maybe. Murtagh felt safer working at Eragon's party than simply attending it.

A lot of people showed up, not that Murtagh was particularly surprised. Eragon was a nice kid, as long as you were nice to him.

Aksel was there, arm wrapped around someone Murtagh belatedly recognised as his former neighbour Vanir. He'd barely seen Vanir since he'd moved.

Brom was there, tucked away in a corner-booth talking to people Murtagh didn't know or couldn't name. Murtagh made sure not to look over there too often. He and Brom might have made up, but things were still strained. He wasn't sure if it was because Brom looked at him and saw his father, or because Murtagh looked at Brom and saw the same. Whatever it was, it was better left alone.

Arya had taken the night off to, in her words, fully be able to enjoy the party. She had more or less left Murtagh in charge. Murtagh had no idea what to feel about that.

Nasuada was a welcome face in the crowd, along with Thorn and Saphira. It was the first time Murtagh had seen Thorn and Saphira since the hospital. Thorn was quick to single him out and greet him.

The hug took him by surprise. Thorn was still beaming when he let go and took a step back. "I didn't think I'd see you here tonight."

"Will it help if I say I'm working?" Murtagh found himself saying.

Thorn laughed.

Saphira smiled at him.

They stayed and chatted with him for a while before wandering off to wish Eragon happy birthday. Murtagh found himself keeping an eye on them as he worked. Saphira swept Eragon up into a hug, even though she was shorter than him, and nearly did a full twirl with him. Thorn's shoulders shook with laughter.

Murtagh looked away and greeted a customer instead.

-;-

"Hey."

Murtagh wasn't sure how much time had passed. An hour maybe? No more than two. He was drying a new tray of glasses and putting them in the display when Eragon approached the bar.

Eragon looked nervous. There was a flush to his cheek, and while Murtagh hadn't seen him by the bar he doubted Eragon was there for his first drink of the night.

"Enjoying the party?" Murtagh asked.

Eragon bit his lip before answering. "Yeah, thanks."

"Happy birthday," he said, wondering briefly if it sounded as belated as it probably was. It occurred to Murtagh then that he had no idea how old Eragon was now. He didn't know how to ask – and didn't know if he wanted to – without coming off as awkward, so he didn't.

Eragon's flush deepened into a blush. "Thank you."

"Can I get you anything?"

For some reason, that made Eragon's blush even darker. "Uh, can I get a screwdriver please?"

Murtagh put away the last glass and threw the towel over his shoulder. "ID."

Eragon blinked owlishly.

Murtagh shrugged. "Can't serve you until I see your ID."

"But you've served me before," Eragon blurted out before blushing so red he reminded Murtagh of a traffic-light.

"Have I?" Murtagh countered.

Eragon opened and closed his mouth, clearly at a loss for words. He narrowed his eyes a few moments later. "You're just messing with me, aren't you?"

Murtagh allowed himself to smirk. "Did you think I was going to go easy on you just because it's your birthday?"

Eragon scowled at him. His ever-present blush ruined the otherwise stern look.

"One screwdriver for the birthday boy coming up," Murtagh said and grabbed a fresh glass.

The minutes it took him to make the drink were spent in silence. The bar was vibrant around them, but Eragon didn't say another word. In fact, he was having problems looking right at Murtagh. Murtagh wondered briefly what had caused this sudden onset of shyness, and hoped it had nothing to do with the situation between himself and Eragon's father.

"Here you go," Murtagh said and set the drink in front of Eragon.

"Thanks." Eragon started to rummage through his pockets for money, but Murtagh stopped him.

"On the house."

Eragon looked up sharply.

"Just this once," Murtagh said. "It's not your birthday every day, after all."

Eragon bit his lip again. He still looked ready to object when he pulled the glass towards himself and thanked Murtagh softly.

Murtagh watched Eragon walk back towards his friends.

He didn't see Eragon again until the tail-end of the party, and by then Murtagh was more than ready to head home and crash on his bed. He lingered long enough to give Eragon a wave, which visibly startled Eragon. He returned the wave with a blush and something like a smile.

Murtagh briefly wondered if it was even healthy to blush that much before shouldering on his jacket and walking into the night. As something told him he'd probably just make it worse for Eragon by asking, he kept those thoughts to himself.

He could make that comment another time, perhaps. If he remembered it.

-;-

"Have you ever thought about going to a group?" Tornac asked out of the blue one Wednesday afternoon.

Murtagh paused, something that Fenris clearly objected to. She miaued and kneaded his thighs until he started to pet her again.

"A group?"

"Yes," Tornac said and sat down in the armchair. He was cradling a cup of what Murtagh guessed was tea in his hands. It was steaming faintly. "For survivors."

It took Murtagh a minute to understand what Tornac meant.

He kept his eyes on Fenris as he said, "No," as calmly as he could.

"I'm very proud of you for how far you've come," Tornac said. There was a soft clink as he undoubtedly put the cup on the coffee-table. "I know opening up to Angela couldn't have been easy."

"And I'm fine with just her," Murtagh said before Tornac could gear up for what was probably a whole speech on the subject.

"I'm not saying you can't be -"

"Like you said, opening up to Angela was hard enough," Murtagh interrupted. Fenris was looking back at him now. She'd started to knead his thighs again, but less firmly. She miaued softly and butted her head right into his hand when he went to pet her. "I can't imagine myself doing the same to a bunch of strangers."

"You know you wouldn't have to," Tornac said gently. "You don't have to open up until you feel ready. A lot of meetings involve just sitting there, listening to others."

Murtagh found himself looking up. There was something haunted in Tornac's eyes, like he was remembering something. It occurred to him then that maybe Tornac was speaking from experience. There were groups for everything now, why wouldn't there be one for people with cancer?

It suddenly became hard to swallow. Murtagh had to look away and tell himself he didn't feel like crying. Tornac was fine. His cancer was in remission. He was _fine_.

He shook his head. "It's not for me, I don't think."

Tornac sighed softly. "Very well, Murtagh. I won't push."

Fenris decided to stand up then, and Murtagh lifted his hand to give her space. But she didn't move far. She merely turned and planted herself right down in his lap, where she curled up into a tight ball and looked up at him almost pitifully. Murtagh didn't even try to stop himself from stroking between her eyes. Fenris let out a loud, rumbling purr and closed her eyes.

When Murtagh looked up again, Tornac was smiling at them.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." Tornac picked up his cup again and took a sip from it. "I'm just so glad I found Fenris. You're calmer when you're with her."

Murtagh rubbed at the spot behind Fenris' ear that always got her going and had to admit that his shoulders – which he hadn't noticed growing tense – loosened when she purred louder.

"Thank you," Murtagh said quietly, not quite meeting Tornac's eyes.

"Don't thank me," he said. "Get better. That's all the thanks I'll ever need from you."

Murtagh looked down again. He didn't deserve the friends he had, and he certainly didn't deserve one as loyal as Tornac.

-;-

Spring seemed to happen over the course of one night. The snow melted, the temperature rose by ten degrees, and a few hopeful birds started to sing.

Tornac's birthday fell a few days before Murtagh's next appointment with Angela. Tornac had begged for a quiet affair, which was how Murtagh ended up spending a Saturday evening in a restaurant with Tornac and a handful others. He'd been surprised when he realised he was only unfamiliar with a couple of them; Oromis, who was apparently one of their neighbours, and a co-worker of Tornac's by the name of Trianna. The others had been Brom, Jocelyn, Shruikan and Glaedr.

Murtagh has been surprised when he'd only felt half as awkward as he'd anticipated.

He saw Angela early the following week and was surprised when he only lingered briefly outside before forcing himself past the threshold.

He felt differently once he stepped into her office, but at that point he'd almost come to anticipate the dread. He didn't know what he'd do if he started to become comfortable in her offices.

Angela, when she saw him, greeted him with a smile and gestured at him to take a seat.

"How have you been?" Her voice was almost deceptively soft when she spoke. It was like their last couple of appointments wasn't affecting her. Or, if they were, not to the point they were affecting him. He could still hear all the things that had gone unsaid. He wondered if they would ever go away.

"Fine," he answered.

And he had been, for the most part. He still had nightmares, but nothing that was unmanageable. He'd been tired some days, rested on others. For all that Tornac was still sneaking off to have certain conversations, he hadn't suggested anything to Murtagh in at least a week.

"Anything you want to talk about?" she asked.

Angela had started to do that recently; leaving it up to him to choose a topic of conversation. She still prodded him every now and then, but not nearly as much as she used to. It had taken Murtagh a moment of contemplation to realise that it wasn't she that had changed, it was him.

"Nothing that I can think of," he said. "Everything's been...fine, recently."

"How are your nightmares?" she asked. "Do you still get them as frequently?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I get them when I get them. There's no set schedule, not outside of -" He cut himself off.

He could see on Angela's face that he didn't need to finish the sentence. She knew exactly what he'd been about to say.

She hummed and made a note. Murtagh told himself not to look into it.

"I've been sleeping better since I moved in with Tornac," he found himself saying.

Angela's mouth softened. "I'm glad to hear that."

Murtagh really hoped she wouldn't bring up the medication again and could feel himself sag in relief when she didn't.

"Oh, do remember to wish Tornac happy birthday from me, would you?" she said at the end of the session.

Murtagh slipped a hand into his pocket and shrugged. "Sure."

She smiled at him. "I'll see you for your next appointment."

And there it was again. Everything that still remained unsaid hung between them. Murtagh told himself to ignore it and left before he could do something stupid, like open his mouth.

-;-

The summer was still in full swing when Saphira's birthday party was held. The party had been small and intimate, only for close friends and family. Bugs had buzzed lazily, and the sunlight had been warm without being scorching. Even though Brom had been off to the side, reminding Murtagh constantly of the ghost they shared, he'd actually enjoyed himself.

Tornac approached the subject a few days after. Murtagh realised then, almost the exact moment the words fell from Tornac's lips, that he'd slowly been leading up to this. This moment, this conversation.

"I really do think you'd be able to make a good case if you only tried," Tornac said.

They were sitting outside for once. The summer had forced them to spend most of the days inside, melting away slowly by the air-con. The evenings were more forgiving, but most evenings found Murtagh working a late shift at the bar. It wasn't often they both had a night off and could spend it outside, doing nothing.

Of course, now that Tornac had brought up that particular topic they weren't exactly doing nothing anymore.

It was still light out. The days always seemed to last forever during the summer. It was impossible for Murtagh to tell what time it was anymore. It could be four in the afternoon or just part eight in the evening.

"I'd rather not talk about this," Murtagh said.

"I understand," Tornac said even as he turned towards Murtagh with a particularly stubborn look on his face that suggested otherwise, "but there is no escaping this, Murtagh. I think that man has made that perfectly clear."

Murtagh tried, but could not quite suppress the flinch.

"If he's gone through this much trouble, then he's not going to just forget about you."

"I don't want to talk about this," Murtagh said and got up.

Tornac rose as well. "I don't mean any harm -"

"Then maybe you can stop treading all over me," Murtagh bit out. "We've talked about this. I'm not doing it."

"You know he's done this before!" Tornac said, body stiff like he wanted to move but was holding himself back. Murtagh knew that was on account of him. Sudden gestures would probably never stop making him flinch; something Tornac knew very well.

And yet he somehow had not grasped that the last thing Murtagh wanted to do was revisit this topic for the nth time.

"There's every chance he'll do it again."

"Don't!" Murtagh snapped.

Tornac looked taken aback.

Murtagh shoved his hands in his pockets before he could do something stupid. "Don't you dare play the guilt card. You have no right."

Tornac rubbed at the back of his neck. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Murtagh had to look away. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he couldn't make it calm down.

"I just hate that they've gotten away with this, that they still are," Tornac said, voice soft but full of emotion. "You deserve better than this."

"If that's true, then maybe you can stop making me relive it so often," Murtagh said before he could stop himself. He regretted the words the instant they left his tongue.

Tornac paled and almost stumbled back a step. Murtagh _hated_ himself.

"Murtagh -"

"I can't," the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. Murtagh ignored the burn and rushed off the porch. He didn't stop rushing until he was so far down the street he couldn't hear Tornac calling after him anymore.

-;-

Murtagh didn't know why he'd gone there, exactly, though maybe there was some residue feeling of safety or solitude that had drawn him there. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared right ahead at the church in the distance.

He wasn't surprised. Tornac was stubborn and determined – two of the qualities that had gotten him this far in life. Stubborn, determined and with a fierce appreciation of life. It was no wonder Tornac had beat his cancer right into remission. It was only natural that Tornac would want Murtagh to go after his own demons with the same vigour.

But that was the difference between them. Murtagh had spent his life in the shadows, hiding bruises, cuts, demons and worse. He'd been knocked down every time he tried to stand up for himself. How – and indeed, even why – was he supposed to pick himself up time and time again when it clearly wasn't worth the effort?

"I had a feeling I'd find you here."

Murtagh felt himself stiffen.

Shruikan sat down on the bench, though in the opposite corner. It was obvious that Shruikan was trying not to crowd him.

"Tornac called me," Shruikan said before Murtagh could ask. "He told me about the talk you two had."

Murtagh felt himself hunch down. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there.

He wondered briefly when Tornac and Shruikan had gotten close enough that they talked freely about him.

"Tornac means well," Shruikan continued. "I think you know that."

"Of course I do." And Murtagh did. How could he not? But he and Tornac weren't the same. Tornac had always been so much stronger than him. Murtagh didn't have the same strength in him to go up against what only seemed inevitable.

"Then you know he's only doing and saying these things because he's worried about you."

Murtagh leaned back into the bench and stared up at the sky. The days were slowly getting longer. There was a sprinkle of impending twilight of the sky, but it was still faint. Night wouldn't fall for another couple of hours yet.

"He shouldn't be," Murtagh found himself saying.

"Yes, he should," Shruikan said brusquely.

Murtagh had to force himself not to flinch.

There was a moment of heavy silence before Shruikan sighed. Murtagh kept his eyes on the skies, staring blankly without really seeing. There was a faint buzzing in his ear that came from something other than the thriving summer-insects.

"What happened to you wasn't ok."

Murtagh's head snapped up.

Shruikan looked unflappable. He was leaning forward slightly, hands clasped between his thighs. He wasn't even looking at Murtagh.

"You have to know that," Shruikan said plainly and tilted his head just enough to look Murtagh's way.

Murtagh found himself incapable of forming words.

"What happened to you is never ok, regardless of who it happens to," he continued. "So why are you letting the real culprits go unpunished?"

"You're one to talk," Murtagh heard himself say, which wasn't even close to what he would have wanted to say.

Shruikan shrugged. "I know I don't have a leg to stand on," he said bluntly. "I didn't fight, so why should you?"

Murtagh looked away. His mouth felt dry.

"Our circumstances were different," Shruikan said some minutes – hours? – later. "I don't know if I would have had the courage to do something if I'd been in your shoes."

Murtagh licked his lips and swallowed. If anything, his mouth felt even drier afterwards.

"But the fact remains that you _can_ do something about this. You _can_ make them pay."

Murtagh was looking at him, mouth open, before he was even aware of moving.

"Tornac and I have been talking, as I said," Shruikan continued, voice calm and collected. "We've both been looking into things. The house is still there."

Murtagh flinched before he could stop himself. He still had nightmares about that house, the place he'd grown up in, the walls within which his innocence had been taken long before he'd killed his father. He could remember every detail about it; everything from the colour of the number of windows down to the colour on the doorknobs.

He _hated_ that house and everything it stood for.

"You could do something if you really wanted to," Shruikan said. "There could still be some evidence there."

"I'm not going back there on a hunch," Murtagh said. His voice was barely louder than a whisper and it hurt to speak.

"We wouldn't force you to," Shruikan said simply. "But if you wanted to fight, the possibility is there for the taking."

His fingernails were digging into his arms, he realised belatedly. He hadn't realised he was gripping himself so tightly. He wasn't exactly surprised. Unpleasant conversations tended to have unpleasant side-effects.

"If I said no," Murtagh's throat clicked. He couldn't force the rest of the words past his lips.

"Tornac would drop it," Shruikan said like it was easy, like Tornac hadn't been leading up to this for months, like he wasn't one of the most stubborn people Murtagh knew. "If you really wanted to let it go, Tornac would respect that."

Murtagh couldn't swallow. He tilted his head just enough that he could see the bottom of Shruikan's stubbled chin. "But?"

"But if you don't want to fight because you're scared of losing, then he won't give up," Shruikan said. "Tornac's confident you'd win."

Murtagh barked a laugh. His mouth tasted of blood afterwards.

Shruikan stood. "When you have so little confidence in yourself, can you blame Tornac for picking up the slack?"

Murtagh had nothing to say to that.

"It would be hell, if you did decide to go through it."

Murtagh found himself wanting to laugh. He kept the urge at bay.

"It wouldn't be an easy fight," Shruikan continued. "But imagine what would happen if you won."

He had to look away before he did something stupid, like look Shruikan in the eye.

"Think it over properly before you decide." Shruikan turned and put his hand on the back of the bench. "But if you ask me, a hellish trial would be worth a few less nightmares weighing you down."

Murtagh heard him walk away.

He sat there until the world darkened around him. Only then did he get up and walk home.

-;-

"Murtagh?"

Murtagh swallowed and made himself look up.

Angela was looking at him patiently. If she was worried it didn't show.

"I've," the words got stuck in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow, but it only seemed to make it worse. "I've been thinking, recently."

Angela stayed silent.

He had been doing a lot of thinking, ever since Tornac had raised the subject and Shruikan had approached him in the park. And while he didn't agree with them wholeheartedly, he could admit that they were right about certain things.

It wasn't fair that they'd gotten away with this. People like them were scum that deserved to rot in the pit of hell.

And yet, when Murtagh'd had the chance, he'd kept quiet. No one had asked when they'd seen his scars or bruises; not that he could remember, anyway. He'd been put away for an act of self-defence all because he hadn't been able to speak up for himself. That wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that he'd paid for Morzan's death when King could still go about his day like he hadn't ruined the lives of dozens of kids just like Murtagh. That didn't make the thought of going up against him any less terrifying.

What if he lost? What if he went all in and still couldn't make it stick? King would surely just come after him, then. Murtagh wouldn't have any leverage against him anymore.

It had never seemed worth it in those quiet moments when he'd wondered about the past. King was a reputable figure, just like Morzan had been. What was worse; King undoubtedly had people on his payroll that made people with cases like Murtagh go away permanently.

It had never seemed worth it before. Not until Tornac. Not until Shruikan.

Murtagh rubbed his hand over his mouth. "He's never going to go away," he forced out. "Not unless I make him."

King hadn't contacted him since the last time, but Murtagh knew his kind. He could remember their latest encounter like it had happened yesterday. It still featured in his nightmares. King wouldn't give up unless Murtagh made him.

"No one will make you do anything you don't want to do," Angela said softly. "They don't have the right."

Murtagh looked down at his hands. Objectively he knew she was right, but the sheer number of instances that came to mind said otherwise.

"If you're not comfortable taking a stand, then you don't have to."

"He's not going to give up," Murtagh said softly. Whether it was directed at her or himself was unclear. "And it isn't fair that I'm sitting here, hands shaking," he shoved them between his thighs in a failed attempt to make them stop, "when he's the one that's done wrong."

"I'm glad you can see that," she said, sounding almost proud. Murtagh was too afraid to look up to check whether her expression matched her tone.

"Things are not going to get better unless I fix them." He let out a shaky breath. "I'm not – not ready to go and try just yet." He wanted to laugh, but swallowed the urge. "I'd probably have a panic-attack if I did."

"Realising your limitations is good," Angela said.

"Yeah, thanks." Murtagh clasped his hands together tightly. "But I think...I think I'm ready to come up with a game-plan. How to take action."

"That's good."

Murtagh was looking up before he realised he'd moved. Angela was smiling, he found. She did indeed look proud.

"Take your time," she said. "Take as long as you need to plan everything. Make sure everyone understands your boundaries and stick with them. Don't budge just because you think someone wants you to. Budge because you feel that it's right."

Murtagh licked his lips. He nodded, and it was somehow only slightly shakily.

"Call me any time you need to talk," she told him. "It doesn't matter if it's in the afternoon or the middle of the night. Barring any consultations; I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you."

Angela shook her head. "There's nothing to thank me for."

"I have everything to thank you for," Murtagh objected.

"Nonsense," Angela said, though her eyes were twinkling. "I barely did anything. You were the one that did all the hard work. If you want to thank anyone, thank yourself. Give yourself a pat on the back for getting this far. It's an incredible achievement. Be proud of yourself. I know I am."

Murtagh had to look away again, but this time for a whole other reason.

-;-

The worst part about the whole thing was that he wanted it. That was why he hadn't given it much thought before. If he started to picture it there was a very good chance he'd get lost in it.

He didn't want to be known as the scum of his neighbourhood, as the boy that had killed his father. He didn't want King's abuse to continue. He wanted more. He _deserved_ more.

But it was impossible. It had to be. King had his fingers in too many pies. There was no way any jury would find him guilty, and that was if they could find someone impartial enough to be willing to bring him to court. Surely if Murtagh tried, he'd only lose.

But what if he didn't? What if they could find the evidence, someone so irreproachable that even King couldn't touch, a jury that was willing to listen to reason. Surely he was imagining the impossible, but it didn't stop Murtagh from wanting it.

But he had to be realistic. It wouldn't be an easy journey to get where they needed to go; mentally and physically. Like Tornac and Shruikan had said, they needed evidence. Irrefutable evidence. That meant going back to his childhood hellhole. Urû'baen. Just the thought was enough to make him want to puke.

Murtagh took a deep breath and looked up at Tornac's house.

He found himself thinking about the patient Shruikan had once told him about. That kid had taken his own life to get away from King. That could just as easily become his future if he wasn't careful, or if he lost. No place would be safe if he lost; not even if he fled the continent. Murtagh knew that.

The reward had to outweigh the risk in order for the risk to be worth taking. That much was obvious. But sometimes it was hard to tell how big a risk was, or what rewards it might or might not yield.

Was the evidence-gathering and nightmarish trial worth the possibility of putting King away for good?

It had to be. Even if the chances were against him, it had to be.

Murtagh gritted his teeth and forced himself to move. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Tornac was in the living room. There was a cup of what smelled like tea in his hands. Tornac quickly put it down, though not before Murtagh saw that it was still mostly full and that it had long since gone cold.

"Murtagh -"

He held out a hand and Tornac instantly closed his mouth.

Murtagh took a deep breath and kicked off his shoes. He shoved his hands into his pockets and made himself close the distance between them.

Tornac looked pained and uncomfortable. Murtagh completely understood that sentiment. He felt it himself, even.

"Before you say anything," he forced himself to say, "I have to say something."

Tornac nodded mutely.

Murtagh sat down and tried to remember how to breathe. "If we do this, we do it my way," he said. "I call the shots."

Tornac's whole expression changed. Murtagh looked away before he could catalogue the changes exactly.

"You can tell me what you've found, all of that," he said. His leg wouldn't stop bouncing. He put a hand on his knee to try to force it to stop. "But I decide."

"Of course," Tornac said in a rush.

When Murtagh looked up, Tornac looked apologetic.

When it became clear that Murtagh wasn't going to say anything else, Tornac continued. "I wouldn't dream of making you do anything you don't want to do."

"Except revisit a topic I've told you to let go multiple times," he heard himself drawl.

There was a slight hint of a smile at the corner of Tornac's mouth. "I am sorry about that," he said. "I wanted to let it go, I did, because you asked me to, but I couldn't."

"You always did have a thing for lost causes."

Tornac chuckled.

A silence followed. Tornac spent it reaching out slowly, giving Murtagh plenty of time to lean away. He didn't flinch when Tornac's hand came to a rest on his shoulder, but it was a near thing.

"You're in control," Tornac said softly. "I will follow your lead when you're ready, whether that's today, tomorrow, or ten years from now."

Murtagh swallowed around the lump in his throat. He couldn't get the words past his tongue, but he hoped Tornac felt the gratitude nonetheless.

Well, that settled that, then. Apparently they were going to Urû'baen.


	14. Sarin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know. I am very sorry about that. I have been having a lot of problem getting an internet provider, but hopefully it'll happen soon. I have another chapter of this lying around, waiting to be posted, but I'll hang onto that a little while longer.
> 
> But enough life drama. Here's a little update on what's going on in Murtagh's life.
> 
> Beware that some heavy stuff is hinted to in this chapter. Murtagh hasn't lived an easy life and it's going to show.

**POISON**

**Part Fourteen; Sarin**

As much as the thought made him want to puke, Murtagh knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable. The sooner they went, the sooner it would be over.

Organising the trip turned out to be the easiest part of the entire venture. Tornac had already done a lot of research. But before they could go further there was a call Murtagh needed to make.

Ajihad was surprisingly agreeable when Murtagh called him. He approved the trip without even asking Murtagh why he wanted to visit his hometown. He just asked whether he’d be going alone and wished him a safe trip before hanging up. For someone tasked to look after Murtagh and make sure he didn’t do anything illegal, Ajihad was surprisingly accommodating.

Once they’d gotten started it took them less than an hour to book tickets, a hotel, and make an itinerary of places to visit and people to speak with. While they could just as easily have driven, they both agreed that it would be easier to take a bus there.

Murtagh allowed Tornac to make the hard call to Murtagh’s old lawyer. Apparently Tornac had been calling him as well to ask questions about legal procedures. It made Murtagh wonder just how long Tornac had been planning this and who else he’d been calling.

Before they could leave, there were a few other people Murtagh had to talk to. Tornac was on break and luckily didn’t need to call into work, but Murtagh had to force himself to pick up the phone and call his boss. Thankfully Arya seemed to understand enough not to probe too much and let him take his vacation without much fuss.

Thorn had questions, but Murtagh put most of them to rest by saying he’d give Thorn a proper explanation when he came back. If he had to give Thorn the rundown before he left Murtagh wasn’t sure he’d be able to go through with it. It wasn’t that Thorn wouldn’t support him – knowing Thorn’s ideology and personality he’d undoubtedly say it was about time – but the more time Murtagh had to think the less likely it became that he would go through with it.

Nasuada was more than happy to watch Fenris while they were gone. She didn’t ask any questions and for that Murtagh was grateful. He wasn’t sure what he would have ended up saying. All he could say for certain was that it wouldn’t have been the truth.

Shruikan stopped by before they left and had a private conversation with Tornac that Murtagh was more than happy to stay out of. Though Shruikan did linger enough to let him know that they were more than welcome to call if they needed help at any point during their journey.

Hrothgar would be meeting them in Urû’baen, so all that was left for them to do was pack and catch the bus that would take them to Dras Leona. From there they’d change for a bus going to Urû’baen.

Murtagh still wasn’t confident in their success, but one thing was sure; staying would ensure failure. If they left, then at least they’d tried.

-;-

It was warmer in Urû’baen during the summer. The endless pavements in the town-centre saw to that. Murtagh’s memories told him that the suburban districts would be better, though not by much.

Hrothgar met them at the bus terminal. Murtagh could feel the memories rushing back as soon as he stepped off the bus and knew he could navigate the streets with ease, but was thankful that he wouldn’t have to.

Hrothgar ushered them into his car before driving off. He’d offered to go over the plan at his office, something Tornac and Murtagh had agreed on. The hotel they’d booked was on the outskirts of town, but they couldn’t be too careful.

After they checked in and stowed their luggage, Hrothgar drove them to his office building and showed them to his office.

Hrothgar took a seat behind his desk with a sigh. He gestured for them to take a seat as well, something Tornac did with far more ease than Murtagh.

Murtagh had never actually been inside Hrothgar’s office before. He’d only ever spoken with him in a penitentiary, or when he’d driven Murtagh to Carvahall what seemed like an age ago. It was small, slightly cluttered, but full of life.

“You’ve given me quite the tall order to fill,” Hrothgar said as soon as Murtagh sat down. The chairs in front of Hrothgar’s desk looked like they’d be uncomfortable as all hell, but were actually not that bad. Murtagh would almost call them comfortable, at least by his standards.

“We’re aware,” Tornac said, looking rueful but not sounding it one bit.

Hrothgar held up a hand. “It may be a tall order, but it’s one I’m happy to take on.” He looked over at Murtagh. “I always felt that you deserved so much better.” He looked as apologetic as he sounded. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t do more for you.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Murtagh said. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Hrothgar said wryly. “Not if what Tornac has told me is even remotely true.”

Murtagh looked over at his friend.

“It is,” Tornac said without hesitation. “But I don’t think Murtagh was in the right space of mind to aid you then. Not like he is now.”

Hrothgar nodded, still looking faintly sad.

Murtagh felt himself start to wring his hands and forced himself to stop.

“First order of business, we need to find a way to document our proceedings,” Hrothgar said and grabbed a file on his desk. “We need to make sure the proof we find is irrefutable. If this guy really is as untouchable as we all believe, then we can’t afford to do anything wrong.”

Tornac was nodding along.

“Ideally, we’d need an impartial witness.” Hrothgar did not look encouraged by his latest proclamation.

“You won’t do?” Tornac asked.

“As Murtagh’s attorney, I am hardly impartial.” Hrothgar shook his head. “But I am the best we’ve got unless we’re willing to trust this with anyone else.”

Murtagh looked over at Tornac and found him looking back.

“We could call Shruikan.”

“He’s hardly impartial either,” Murtagh said. “And I don’t want to drag him into this, not if I can help it. He’s gotten his life in order. He doesn’t need to help me fight this fight any more than he already has.”

Tornac shook his head faintly. “I think he’d disagree, but I see your point.” He frowned, as if he’d suddenly thought of something.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Tornac said, though carried on before Murtagh could point out how obvious his lie was. “It’s something for later. A character-witness, possibly.”

Hrothgar visibly sat up. “I’ll need their name and number.”

“Yes, yes,” Tornac waved a hand, “I’ll give it to you, but only if we find something.”

“Of course,” Hrothgar said, though he looked more enthused now.

Murtagh wondered who Tornac had thought of and why he was so reluctant to name them.

“Then,” Hrothgar opened the file and started to pull out some documents, “all that’s left for us to figure out is where to go first.”

-;-

The police station was first on the agenda, no matter how much Murtagh argued against it.

He understood why Hrothgar and Tornac believed it to be a good idea. If anyone were to have records of the case and possible clues and evidence of Murtagh’s abuse, it would be them. But the police had ignored those signs before. There was no reason for them to help him now when they’d been so unwilling to do it then.

Visiting the station Murtagh had been processed at only enhanced Murtagh’s beliefs.

The receptionist went from neutral to hostile as soon as Hrothgar explained why they were there. He hemmed and hawed until finally giving in and going through the apparently laborious effort of looking up the details on Murtagh’s case. He didn’t seem happy at all once he found the information Hrothgar had asked for and told them curtly to wait until Detective Sergeant got there.

When they were finally allowed to speak with someone who had worked on Murtagh’s case, it was clear how little they were welcome there. The policeman – now higher on the food-chain, considering the last memory Murtagh had of him was in a uniform – was wearing a particular sneer that Murtagh was only too familiar with.

“And how can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, voice practically dripping with acid.

“I’d like a copy of my client’s case,” Hrothgar said.

Hrothgar didn’t gesture at him, but the policeman still looked in Murtagh’s direction. His eyes were dark, almost like a shark’s, and just as emotionless.

“If he’s your client, then you already have a copy of his case,” the policeman said curtly.

“I’d like all the information that was gathered in connection to his case, even the things that didn’t make it into court,” Hrothgar said before the Detective Sergeant could usher them out of the building – something he was clearly itching to do.

The policeman smirked nastily. “And I’m sure you have a warrant for that, Mr...?”

“Attorney Darr,” Hrothgar said, voice hardening. “And yes, I do.”

The policeman looked surprised for a split second before the disgust took over again. He held out a hand pointedly.

Hrothgar made no effort to hide the pleasure he got out of handing over the warrant he had secured just an hour before arriving at the station.

The warrant was scanned with more scrutiny that Murtagh felt was probably appropriate – though unsurprising, considering the circumstances. Morzan had been well-liked by everyone in the area, especially the neighbourhood Murtagh had grown up in. The whole city hadn’t known him, but some days it had felt that way. Murtagh knew many felt he’d gotten off easy and many probably still felt that way. It wasn’t surprising that they were meeting resistance this early. If anything, it would have been surprising if they hadn’t.

“Fine,” the policeman said shortly and practically threw the warrant back at Hrothgar. “I’ll find the files. You wait here.”

The three of them were left to wait in the reception. The receptionist was still glaring daggers at them. Murtagh turned away so he didn’t have to look in his eyes.

Tornac shook his head faintly. “I knew it wasn’t going to get easy,” he said lowly, “but this seems a bit extreme.”

Murtagh killed the urge to snort.

Hrothgar sighed. “It was much the same when I took the case,” he confessed. “I got little, if any, help. It almost seemed like a miracle when they allowed me to see M- my client alone.”

Murtagh didn’t have to look directly at Tornac to know he was frowning.

“This is one of the reasons I got out of this city,” Tornac said, voice rough. “I never did like it here. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“There’s always going to be people that need help,” Hrothgar said. “It’s in places like this that I really feel like I can make a difference, even if I have to fight at every turn to do so. Prejudice is a disease that we need to get rid of.”

“You can say that again,” Tornac said dryly.

In the end, they had to wait for what felt like hours for the Detective Sergeant to return. When he did it was with a cardboard box in his arms – one he was more than happy to shove at Hrothgar.

“Here’s everything you asked for,” he said before rubbing his hands at his previously pristine trousers. His mood somehow managed to get blacker when he noticed the dust clinging to clothes. “If there’s nothing else, there’s the door.”

Hrothgar had barely managed to get a proper grip on the box before they were unceremoniously showed the door. Murtagh wasn’t surprised by the treatment at all. If anything, he was surprised he hadn’t been spat on yet.

Tornac sighed.

“We should head back to the office with this,” Hrothgar said. “I don’t want to leave it in the car where it’s vulnerable. And it’s probably a good idea to look over the material before we check the hospital. That way we’ll be better prepared.”

Tornac nodded in agreement.

Murtagh did the same, even though the last thing he wanted to do was to dig into his old case. He knew there was no way around it, though. This was why they’d come. It was too late to back out now.

-;-

They stepped through the doors to the hospital a couple of hours later. The box had been almost hilariously empty. At one point Hrothgar had been ready to swear the police had removed information from their copy and had even gone his files to make sure. That had unfortunately proven not to be true. The police had simply not bothered to do much work on Murtagh’s case. They’d collected a handful of evidence and pressed charges against Murtagh almost before the evidence had even finished processing.

There were few pictures of Murtagh himself to document the cuts and bruises on him the day he’d been arrested, though there had been more than enough pictures of Morzan’s body, the knife and Murtagh’s bloody clothes.

Hrothgar was in a mood when they approached the hospital’s reception desk. It was clear that he’d expected there to be more evidence and that he was disappointed in the lack of them. Tornac was clearly disappointed too. Murtagh forced himself not to feel anything. He knew all too well of what this city thought of him. There was no use feeling surprised.

The nurse at the reception desk seemed more inclined to help them. She made all the right sympathetic noises when Hrothgar explained why they were there and seemed genuinely apologetic when she said that she couldn’t show them any records without a court-order or form signed by the patient in question.

They’d come prepared. Hrothgar had both, though Murtagh knew he could just as easily have asked to see the documents himself. This way was easier, however. Their earlier trip to the police department was still fresh in mind.

The nurse was visibly surprised when Hrothgar showed her the documents, but didn’t seem to get reluctant as soon as the theoretical became factual. She read the documents, made a few notes and said she’d be back soon before walking off. The other two nurses at the station didn’t even seem to register that she’d walked off.

Tornac and Hrothgar seemed cautiously optimistic until the nurse came back, carrying a box and flanked by a ferocious-looking doctor.

“Here’s the files you were lookin’ fer, gents,” the nurse said brightly. Murtagh found himself wondering if her friendly disposition was just a front and the reason she hadn’t turned outwardly antagonistic was that she hadn’t recognised him yet. She made to hand the box over, but the doctor help up a hand that stopped her.

“I’d like a look at those papers, if you don’t mind,” the doctor said coolly.

“Oh, I checked and it was in order, ma’am,” the nurse said, but Hrothgar was already pulling it out of his pocket.

“Here you are, Doctor.”

The doctor pursed her lips as she snatched the papers out of his hand.

Hrothgar looked calm and unfazed, but Tornac was frowning. “Trianna?”

The doctor’s head snapped up sharply. “That is Doctor Magii to you,” she said, clearly on autopilot. Her eyes were narrowed, but widened slightly when they landed on Tornac. “Holme?”

Tornac’s shoulders loosened just a touch. “I thought it was you.”

The doctor looked between the papers and Tornac. “You can go,” she said to the nurse, grabbing the box before she had time to argue. “I’ll handle this.”

The nurse nodded a little hurriedly before scampering off.

“What are you doing with this lot?” the doctor said shortly. She shoved the papers back at Hrothgar, box cradled under one arm.

Tornac stiffened all over again. “That’s my surrogate son you’re talking about,” he said instantly, voice hard and cold. Murtagh almost forgot how to breathe. “I’ll thank you to watch what you say around me.”

The doctor’s eyes widened faintly, clearly in surprise.

Hrothgar folded the papers together and put them back into his briefcase. Murtagh envied that he had something to fiddle with. The most Murtagh could do was to shove his hands into his pockets and try not to rock on his heels too noticeably.

“You know him?” the doctor said eventually.

“Very well,” Tornac said shortly. “I thought I knew you too, but clearly not if you’ve let this city cloud your mind like this. What reason could a child have – one with no prior violent episodes – to kill their own parent?”

Murtagh reacted before he was aware of moving. His hand was on Tornac’s arm, grounding him, pulling him back. Tornac fell silent, but he regretted it a split-second later. He’d been in the background before, but he definitely wasn’t anymore.

The doctor’s gaze was hard and cold – and not just because her eyes were the same colour as glacial ice. She looked at Murtagh like she could see right into his soul.

“It takes a lot of guts to come back here,” she said, which was not what Murtagh had been expecting.

“We believe in doing what’s right,” Tornac said, even as Murtagh gripped him tighter. “I hope he never showed up at your clinic, because that would mean you saw him and deliberately turned a blind eye.”

“Don’t,” Murtagh said quietly. “We don’t want to make a scene.”

Hrothgar cleared his throat. “If we could just have his files, we’ll be on our way.”

The doctor shifted her gaze over to Hrothgar. Murtagh had to commend him. He didn’t flinch at all.

There was a moment of tense silence before the doctor moved. She held the box out for Tornac to take – which Tornac did, albeit with a slightly confused look on his face. She brushed her hands off afterwards, and Murtagh saw that they were streaked with dust.

“I assume you still have my number?” she said brusquely.

Tornac nodded jerkily.

“Call me if you have any questions,” was all she said before turning on her heel and stalking off.

Murtagh forced himself not to look around, though he could feel eyes on the three of them. He tugged on Tornac’s arm instead, and eventually managed to guide him and Hrothgar back towards the exit.

“What was that about?” Hrothgar said once they were safely outside of the hospital doors.

“I don’t know,” Tornac said, shaking his head. “But we don’t have time to unravel that mystery now. Time is of the essence.”

Murtagh didn’t exactly agree, but found no reason to voice his disagreements out loud. Besides, the sooner they finished the sooner he could go home and forget he even went back to the hellhole that was Urû’baen.

-;-

“This is getting us nowhere.”

They’d gone through the evidence for what felt like a dozen times. Hrothgar had somehow managed to squeeze another table in the room and together they’d arranged the visitors’ seats around them. Hrothgar had flitted back and forth between the table and his own desk, taking and making calls while reading through his share of the papers.

Murtagh had opted out of looking at any of the pictures, even those from the hospital files, which left him with combing through the reports and hoping something would stick out if he only read it a fifth or sixth time.

He’d looked at contents of the box briefly, however, and had to admit he was surprised there were so many files and envelopes to look through. 

When Murtagh looked up, he saw that Tornac was looking at an old X-ray. Hrothgar had just hung up the phone when Tornac had come with his proclamation, though Murtagh didn’t know who he had been talking to.

“Not nowhere,” Hrothgar disagreed. “We know that the hospital made a few notes about possibly contacting Child Protective Services -”

“But we don’t know if they were ever contacted,” Tornac interrupted.

“I’ve left word with a friend of mine at CPS. He’ll dig through some files, see what he can find,” Hrothgar said. “We can’t give up hope yet.”

Tornac sighed. “I’m not suggesting that we do.” There was clearly a ‘but’ in that statement, but it never made it past Tornac’s lips.

“I’ve called some experts I know. There’s something about those pictures that are nagging me,” Hrothgar said. “But I don’t want to make any statements I can’t back up with facts.”

Tornac leaned back in his chair and sighed. “And I agree with you,” he said. There was another ‘but’ lingering in the room, but Tornac failed to voice that one as well.

“Ideally I’d like a medical expert, a child psychologist, and a witness that could collaborate our story,” Hrothgar said. “That would really strengthen our case.”

Murtagh kept his eyes on Hrothgar when he saw Tornac turn to him. He was very aware of the people in his life that could possibly fit that description, but he wasn’t pulling them into this mess unless they had something solid. He didn’t want to burden them unless he absolutely had to.

Hrothgar looked between them. “I’m guessing you have someone in mind,” he said, eyes lingering on Tornac as he spoke.

“Tornac -”

“There are some people that come to mind, yes,” Tornac said, which Murtagh doubted was what he’d just been about to say. “Out of respect for Murtagh I won’t name any names until he gives me the green light.”

Murtagh looked away and kept his eyes carefully on the one window in Hrothgar’s office.

“I understand,” Hrothgar said, voice almost soft. “But right now I’d say we only have circumstantial evidence at best, and that’s without their statements.”

“We’re not bothering them until we have something concrete,” Murtagh heard himself say. He wanted to bite his tongue, but it was already too late.

“Murtagh -”

“You said I was in control,” Murtagh interrupted.

“You are,” Tornac said. He sounded almost sad. “I just wish you wouldn’t say such things about yourself.”

“We’re not talking about this now.” Murtagh looked over at the bookcases behind Hrothgar’s desk. “We’ve gotten the files from the police and the hospital. That leaves only one thing.”

The room fell silent.

Murtagh could feel his hands start to clench in his lap. He let them.

“We can wait for my guy at CPS to get back to me,” Hrothgar offered.

Murtagh shook his head firmly. “There’s no point in waiting around, not when we can do something productive.”

Tornac leaned in closer. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“Yes, I do,” Murtagh forced out. “We’d never get anywhere otherwise.”

The room was silent once again.

It took him several tries to get the words past his lips. “We have to go to the house.” The house was the one place they knew there was still evidence left to find. Anyone else they could call – Child Protective Services, Murtagh’s old teachers, classmates or neighbours – they’d be hit or miss. Probably more miss than hit, at least where their case was concerned. Murtagh could still remember his trial and everything that had been flung at him from the day he’d been arrested to the day he’d been put behind bars.

“We can wait,” Tornac offered again. “If you’re tired -”

“Thanks, but I’d rather just get it over with.” Murtagh had to force himself to let go of his knees. “It’s not going to get better the longer I wait. I’ll never be ready.”

Tornac’s hand hovered over his own before slowly gripping it. Murtagh had to hold back a flinch.

“If you’re sure.”

Murtagh swallowed the taste of bile. “I’m sure,” he lied.

He was aware of Tornac and Hrothgar sharing a look over his head, but he ignored he. He focused on his breathing instead.

In and out.

In, and out.

He could do this. He had to.

-;-

The house looked the same as it did in Murtagh’s nightmares and memories. Two stories – not including the basement, with picket-fencing all around the front. The porch in the front nicely complimented the two bay windows on the lower floor. The roof was tiled and gently peeked, giving it a very classic look. There was a huge tree in the backyard that Murtagh had played in often. He could just make out the branches from the front.

The house had been a soft blue once. The colour had faded with time, just like the garden had started to overgrow.

Even now it was practically picturesque. Picture perfect. It made Murtagh want to puke.

The house was technically his. It had been in his mother’s family long before his father had come along, and while the deed had passed to his father first it was now his. Most likely. Murtagh hadn’t bothered to check. Hrothgar probably knew. While he could ask, Murtagh doubted he would.

“Are you alright?” Tornac murmured.

Murtagh wanted to laugh. He forced himself to swallow the urge.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Walking up to the house felt like walking to his own execution. Tornac’s presence did nothing to calm him. He ascended the three steps, each feeling harder than the rest. This close he could see that the windows were dirty. The paint was chipped and peeling slightly at the frames.

Tornac came up behind him, but it was Hrothgar that came to stand next to him. It was Hrothgar that pulled out the keys and popped it into the lock. It was Hrothgar that unlocked the door and ultimately pushed it open.

Murtagh felt himself freeze. He couldn’t see anything through the entryway, not really. It was light enough that he could see the stairs at the end of the hall, the outlines of the doors that led to the downstairs rooms.

He could remember the layout exactly, he realised uncomfortably. There was a closet immediately to the right and a small bathroom right beside it. The living room was to the left, through a set of double doors, and the kitchen-diner was at the back. Murtagh could almost see the outline of the room that haunted his nightmares.

Upstairs were the two bedrooms and the room that Morzan had claimed as his office. The stairs hid the door that led to the basement; the other room that he could never, ever forget.

“Murtagh?”

He suddenly realised that he wasn’t breathing. He opened his mouth and breathed, tasting dust and decay on his tongue. He had to fight the urge to start coughing.

Tornac came up next to him. He said something, probably his name again, but Murtagh couldn’t hear it. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. He flinched when he saw movement, even though it was only Tornac lifting his hand. He saw Tornac pause, but he didn’t – couldn’t think about that.

The memories were overwhelming him. He couldn’t see anything, but he could picture it. The heavy stench of blood wasn’t in the air, but it was still clogging his throat. He had showered just that morning, but he still felt filthy; like he was never going to get clean again.

Murtagh closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe until the dust cleared the blood from his tongue, until the images stopped flashing before his eyes, until he stopped hearing the knife going into Morzan’s body again and again.

Sounds slowly started to filter back in. He heard Tornac first. He was speaking calmly, reminding Murtagh to breathe, telling him that they could leave if Murtagh wanted to.

“I’m fine,” Murtagh heard himself say. His voice sounded hollow even to himself.

Tornac didn’t call him out on the obvious lie. He just smiled patiently, looking years older than he was.

“We can come back another time,” Tornac suggested.

Murtagh made himself look back into the hellscape that had housed his childhood. His heart started to pound again and he could feel himself physically getting sick. But.

“It won’t get any better with time,” he said finally. “We might as well get it over with.”

Tornac didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue.

Hrothgar had remained blissfully quiet. Murtagh knew that was going to change. Hrothgar was there for a reason, after all. If no one would believe him without proof then they needed some kind of documentation, and they needed a more impartial witness. Hrothgar wasn’t the perfect man for the job, but he was an attorney at law and he was the best they were going to get.

“You are in charge here,” Tornac said as Murtagh took his first tentative step across the threshold. “We’ll follow you.”

The last thing Murtagh was – or even wanted to be – was in charge, but he refrained from telling Tornac that. He moved his other foot and suddenly he was all the way across the threshold.

It was obvious that no one had been inside since the police had wrapped up their investigation and the scen- _everything_ had been cleaned. Everything smelled of dust, musk and a slow wooden decay. Murtagh shoved his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. He forced himself to take another breath.

They didn’t have to go into the kitchen. That investigation was closed – and the place had been cleaned. Besides, he’d done it. He’d taken Morzan’s life. That wasn’t why they were there.

Murtagh felt his eyes catch on the staircase. There was probably some evidence in his old bedroom, but there was really no point in prolonging the inevitable. His body felt like stone, but he forced himself to take one step and then another, moving across the floor until he passed the stairs and came to a stop at the door that lay behind them.

There was had been a lock on the basement door for as long as Murtagh could remember. That lock was still there. They’d have to pick it.

Hrothgar came up next to him once again and Murtagh couldn’t stop himself from flinching. Hrothgar made no comment on his behaviour; he simply walked over to the door and studied the padlock before focusing on the keys he’d brought along. He tried all of them, but none fit – not that Murtagh had thought they would.

Hrothgar turned to him. “This is where you wanted to go?”

Poor choice of words, but Murtagh wasn’t about to call him out on that. He settled for nodding in answer.

Hrothgar’s look was grave. “I’d rather not break in if we can help it.”

Murtagh had to swallow before he could force himself to speak. “There are probably a spare set of keys in the office. Upstairs.”

Hrothgar pocketed the other keys. “Which room?” he asked. “I can go look if you would rather stay downstairs.”

Murtagh wanted to burn the entire place to the ground, but something told him that probably wasn’t a good idea.

“The first door on the left,” he said. “The door should be open. I’d start looking through his desk.”

Hrothgar nodded before walking past him. Murtagh kept his eyes on the wall.

The stairs groaned as Hrothgar made his way upstairs. The landing creaked when he reached it and the door squeaked when he opened it. If Murtagh listened closely enough he could probably hear Hrothgar walking across the floorboards over to Morzan’s desk.

Murtagh forced himself not to listen.

Tornac was much slower in approaching him. He stayed just beside him; close enough that Murtagh could see him out of the corner of his eye, but not so close that he felt crowded or gawked at.

“We can still leave,” Tornac said, voice almost hushed. “We can forget about this entire endeavour. I can’t – and I won’t – make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

It would be so easy to forget the whole thing. That was the horrible truth of the situation. It would be so easy to go back to Carvahall and forget he ever tried to bring King to justice, to clear his own name. But then King would get away with it. He would be free to do it again and again, because everyone else were either dead or too scared to come forward.

“I know.”

And it wasn’t that Murtagh was unafraid. Fuck, he was terrified. But he had Tornac. He had Hrothgar, Shruikan even. He had support. And he had one thing that apparently no one else had managed to garner; Galbatorix King’s continued attention.

If anyone was going to bring him down, it had to be him. Shruikan had no proof; nothing that had survived the test of time. But Murtagh had this house and all the demons that came with it. He owed it to everyone that had come before him and that had come after him to try.

The stairs creaked when Hrothgar walked down them. Murtagh shifted his eyes away from the wall. It had strayed too close to the door. He could feel the bile forming and made himself swallow.

Hrothgar walked past his line of sight until he came to the door. Though he couldn’t watch, Murtagh was still aware of Hrothgar trying two keys before finally getting the padlock open. Hrothgar pocketed the keys before removing the padlock and opening the hatch holding the door closed. 

The hinges protested when Hrothgar pulled the door open. Behind the stairs there was a soft, muted darkness that was nothing compared to the darkness that Murtagh knew awaited them down in the basement.

Tornac pulled out a set of flashlights and passed them around. Murtagh gripped his on autopilot. It was on only because Tornac had flicked the switch for him. His hand felt clammy around the grip. He hoped Tornac wasn’t attached to it because he had a feeling he was going to drop it.

Hrothgar made to descend the stairs first, but Murtagh found himself walking forward quickly. He slipped past the other two and gripped the railing. The flashlight did nothing to alleviate the feeling that he was descending down into hell, but he forced it back. He forced it all back; what he was feeling, what he was remembering. None of that mattered now.

“Murtagh -”

The first step was the hardest. The wood groaned and shifted under him, but held. Murtagh knew he was gripping the railing with all his might and he couldn’t even care.

The second step groaned as well, but not as badly. Halfway down the stairs, the wood sank and creaked even more than the rest, and Murtagh made sure to step along the edge of the stairs rather than down the middle.

He froze as soon as he reached the bottom. The room before him was exactly how he remembered it. The pool-table with the unfinished game on top, the poker-table and the chairs haphazardly spread around it. The ratty couch was even still in the corner. Everything smelled of dust, mould and damp earth.

Murtagh forced himself to walk forward, if nothing else then to let the others get past him. He heard someone – probably Hrothgar – walk over to the light-switch and flick it, though to no avail. The power was off. They would have to make do with the flashlights and the lone window at the back, nestled just under the edge of the roof. Time had covered it with dirt and overgrown grass.

Murtagh tightened his grip on the flashlight and looked around. He could barely hear over the thumping on his heart, but he forced it all down.

“The couch,” he said when he could finally talk around the lump in his throat. “That’s probably where you’ll find – the things you need.”

He felt them both look at him, but he couldn’t look back to make sure.

“Alright,” Hrothgar said quietly.

Tornac walked behind him and Murtagh heard a zipper being pulled. He’d turned around before he was even aware of moving.

Tornac was doing nothing more than pulling out a handheld camcorder from the backpack. If they hadn’t been looking at him earlier, they were now. Murtagh knew his hand was shaking, could see the light shake with it, but he couldn’t stop.

“It’s alright,” Tornac said, clearly aiming for soothing. “We talked about this, remember?”

Murtagh did. They had to document everything. But that didn’t stop him from reacting instinctively, not when he heard a zipper in this place.

He looked away and focused on the window. He could just barely see the sun through the grass outside. It wasn’t nearly enough to ground him, but it was something.

He took a deep breath and forced himself not to cough on the dust. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave.”

Tornac went through the motions and got the camera ready. Hrothgar was walking around, no doubt making himself familiar with the space. Murtagh occasionally saw him walking past in his peripheral, frowning to himself.

Tornac walked over to stand next to Murtagh. “Do you want to stay in here while we do this?”

Murtagh wanted to shake his head, wanted to run away and never come back. He forced himself to do neither. He walked over to the stairs and sat down on the last step, legs spread wide. He didn’t care about the dust and dirt he was getting on his clothes. He just wanted to get this over with.

“I’m ready when you are,” he lied.

Tornac sent him a look that let Murtagh know he wasn’t buying it. It was ok. As long as Murtagh didn’t have a flashback, he was fine.

“All right,” Tornac said and turned to Hrothgar, “the floor is yours.”

Murtagh kept his face carefully blank the entire time Hrothgar was walking around gathering evidence. He kept a running commentary, but Murtagh blocked that out too.

They’d already gone over what Hrothgar was going to say. Murtagh and Tornac had talked it over before coming there and on the way over, and Tornac had given Hrothgar the notes. It would probably have been easier if Murtagh had talked to Hrothgar about it directly, but it was a relief that he didn’t have to.

It wasn’t terribly complicated either, what Hrothgar had to say and do. He checked the furniture, looked through some odd bits of paper and bagged anything suspicious.

Murtagh had given them free reign over the house. After a few comments from Murtagh they had decided to start in the basement and were due to go from there to the common rooms, the bedrooms and then the office. Murtagh had no plans on staying with them throughout the entire walkthrough.

He managed to stay until Hrothgar made his way over to the couch. He had a flashback then, of a hand clamped tightly around his throat and an indescribable weight pushing down onto him and into him, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He ran for the stairs, nearly slipping on the dusty floor in his haste. He didn’t stop running until he reached the top and even then he dashed right across the hall into the tiny bathroom. He hunched over just in time to throw up into the sink, hands gripping the edges so tightly the porcelain squeaked.

Murtagh didn’t stop until all he had nothing left to throw up. He felt hollow and cold down to the bone. His mouth tastes bitter and of bile. He was shaking and could hardly see through the tears.

The floorboards creaked behind him and Murtagh’s head snapped up. He saw the shape first and his heart started to pound before he recognised Tornac’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Tornac said softly, voice full of grief.

Murtagh wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It felt absolutely disgusting and his heart started to pound harder. He turned the tap almost desperately, but no water came.

Of course not, Murtagh thought to himself. The house had been empty for far too long. Of course they’d shut off the water along with the power.

“Here.” Tornac pulled a water-bottle out of his bag and held it out.

Murtagh’s hand shook as he accepted it. He struggled with the cap until he got it open, which was when he promptly dumped far too much onto his hand and put the bottle on the sink so he could start to scrub. There was still some soap left in the soap-dispenser. He coated his hands generously, scrubbing them for almost a full minute before rinsing them. The water-bottle was nearly empty by the time he was done.

“It’s all right,” Tornac said. “We have more.”

Murtagh used what was left of the water to rinse the taste from his mouth. Tornac handed another bottle over, already uncapped, and Murtagh accepted it gratefully.

“I really am sorry that we’re putting you through this,” Tornac said when Murtagh finally went to recap the bottle.

Murtagh paused. His hands started to shake when he tried to twist the cap into place. “I knew what I was going into.”

“That doesn’t mean -”

“I know,” Murtagh said, even though he had no idea what Tornac was about to say.

Tornac fell silent.

Murtagh handed the bottle back. His mouth still tasted faintly of bile, but there was no way around it. He could get some gum later, maybe. He couldn’t bear to think of food just yet.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “You can go back to Hrothgar.”

“Remember that you can go wait outside if you need to,” Tornac said. “You don’t have to put on a mask for us. We already think you’re unbelievably strong for doing this.”

His throat suddenly felt tight. He just nodded at Tornac and waved for him to go along without him.

Tornac lingered for a moment before walking back the way he’d come.

Murtagh leaned back against the wall next to the sink. He closed his eyes and started to count under his breath. He could do this. He had to be able to do this.

-;-

Murtagh stayed in the little bathroom and listened as Tornac and Hrothgar eventually made it up the stairs and walked deeper into the house. It was only then he moved, walking out of the bathroom and heading for the stairs.

He found himself stuck there, rooted to the spot. The stairs seemed as tall and difficult to climb as Mount Everest, if not more so.

He heard Hrothgar’s voice in the distance, rumbling at an entirely different frequency than he could remember Morzan’s voice having. It helped, grounding him firmly in the present.

He reached out and grabbed the banister. Walking up the stairs seemed to take forever, but somehow he made it to the top. The landing was small; more a hallway than anything else. The door to Morzan’s office was ajar. Hrothgar must have forgotten to close it properly. The other doors were still shut.

Murtagh let his body move on autopilot. The went past the first closed door and pushed open the second one.

Inside the air was heavy with dust and smelled of disuse, though the room itself hadn’t changed one bit. The walls were bare. Every piece of furniture had its place. The sheets on the bed were a bland, almost faded colour, and had been made in the precise military style Morzan had favoured. His one shelving unit was fairly bare, and from what he remembered the contents of his wardrobe would look much the same. The desk was the only part that looked lived in, with a few papers were scattered around under the layer of dust. If Murtagh looked closer, he could probably make out the official university envelope and the welcome-packet it had contained. He looked away and tried not to imagine a world where he hadn’t gotten it, a world where he wouldn’t have clung to that one means of escape.

Hrothgar’s voice grew louder. They were probably coming upstairs soon.

Murtagh took a deep breath before stepping over the threshold. He made a beeline for his desk. There was a corkboard resting against the wall with a couple of notes tacked to it. There was also a picture on it, Murtagh realised abruptly. He plucked it off carefully and held it up against the light.

It was a polaroid of him and Thorn. Murtagh had no idea how old they were in it, only that it had been taken before Thorn moved away. They were fresh-faced and oh so terribly young. Thorn was beaming without a care in the world. Murtagh tried to brush away a smudge from the photograph only to realise that it was a bruise. He’d somehow let someone – Murtagh suspected Jocelyn – take his picture while walking around with a bruise on his cheek. Though the most remarkable thing was that he’d kept it; displayed it even.

He must have missed Thorn more than he remembered.

The stairs creaked as they were ascended. Hrothgar was still talking.

Murtagh slipped the polaroid into his pocket. He walked over to the bookshelf, but the only titles displayed where school books. The only fiction displayed were things he’d had to read for English. His fingers lingered on the spine of _Catch-22_. He felt himself smile wryly. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. He could sympathise with that.

“Murtagh?”

He turned to face the doorway. Tornac and Hrothgar were looking at him. Tornac was still carrying the camcorder, but the light had been turned off.

“I think I’ll wait outside,” he said. “I’m done here.”

What little possessions that were left of his mother were probably in the attic, but Murtagh wasn’t about to brave that rickety ladder unless he absolutely had to. Besides, his mother was more of an idea to him than an actual person. He couldn’t remember her laughter, the cadence of her voice or even the smell of her perfume, let alone what she had looked like. Jocelyn had been more of a mother to him than his own and he didn’t need mementos to remember her.

Tornac nodded and they moved out of the doorway. Murtagh heard them walk further down the hallway. They were stopping by Morzan’s room first, it seemed.

Murtagh shook his head and walked out of his childhood bedroom. Hrothgar was talking again as he walked down the stairs. Murtagh blocked the sound of his voice. He closed the front door after himself on his way out and stopped on the porch. He hesitated briefly before heading to the corner where a wooden bench had been sitting for as long as Murtagh could remember. Murtagh sat down next to the bench, squeezed into the inner-most corner, and told himself he wasn’t hiding.

-;-

It seemed like years before Tornac and Hrothgar surfaced. They lingered by the door, talking quietly. Murtagh stayed where he was until Hrothgar turned back to lock the door and Tornac started to look around for him.

Tornac visibly relaxed when Murtagh stood and walked over. He probably looked like a mess, but he didn’t care.

“We’ll talk when we get back to my office,” Hrothgar said before anyone else could speak.

While it would probably have been safe to talk in the car, the ride back into the heart of Urû’baen was silent. Not a word was spoken until they were all inside Hrothgar’s office and he’d locked the door behind them.

“Compared to the other places we’ve looked, the house was...” Hrothgar was clearly conflicted on how to express himself.

“I understand,” Murtagh said as he reclaimed his earlier seat. Police had been all over the crime scene and the hospital had done what they did best. The house, however, had remained largely untouched and untampered. Of course it was going to seem like a plethora of evidence by comparison.

“We just have so sort through it all,” Hrothgar said as Tornac opened the bag and started to pull out various sealed bags and the camcorder. “Then I have a few more calls to make.”

Tornac put a water-bottle down by Murtagh’s elbow before sitting down himself. Murtagh grabbed it and gave him a look of thanks. His mouth still tasted sour.

Hrothgar paused in his sorting. “With your permission,” he said, looking at Murtagh, “I’d like those names now. So I can properly start preparing for our case.”

“You’re that confident?” Murtagh heard himself say and immediately wished he could take it back.

Hrothgar sat down. “I’m much more confident than I was,” he said, “though it all depends on what results we get from the private labs. I can’t send this to the police,” he explained. “I’m not confident we’d get the same results, not in this city.”

Murtagh wholeheartedly agreed. He knew exactly what the police thought of him. He wouldn’t put it past them to doctor the evidence in their favour rather than to report the truth, not where he was concerned.

“They’ll of course ask to perform the same tests themselves during the trial, or even before, but I think we’ll all feel better once a private lab confirms our suspicion,” Hrothgar continued.

Murtagh nodded.

“So, that’s all that’s really left,” Hrothgar said and picked up his phone. “Now it’s time for us to fight.”

 


	15. Aconite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the long-awaited next chapter of _Poison._ I really am sorry it's taken me so long to get this uploaded, but life just kept getting in the way. I'm sure you know how it is.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy. :)

As always, things were easier said than done. The private labs were going to take a while to get back to them and there were several interviews Hrothgar wanted to schedule in the meantime. Murtagh was surprised when he heard just how many people were on Hrothgar’s list. 

“Do you really need to interview all these people?” Murtagh had asked.

“Everything I do is to strengthen your case,” Hrothgar had answered. “Tornac, Thorn and Jocelyn Marron can all testify to your character and your life growing up. Tornac and Brom Teller can testify to your father’s character. Angela Vitch can testify to your state of mind. Shruikan Darc can -” 

“I don’t want to drag Shruikan into this mess,” Murtagh had said then. “He’s gotten his life back. He shouldn’t have to relive this.”

“Shruikan told me that he’d happily be our medical expert witness,” Tornac had said. “He said he wants to help you. Let him decide for himself what he wants to do.”

There was nothing Murtagh had been able to say to that, so he had kept quiet.

One thing that hadn’t surprised him was Hrothgar saying he wanted to interview Murtagh again. As much as he knew it was necessary, Murtagh was not looking forward to that.

In the end, they didn’t end up spending many days in Urû’baen. They packed up and headed back for Carvahall after Murtagh and Tornac’s interviews. Hrothgar promised to keep them updated on the phone and promised not to make any decisions without consulting Murtagh first. 

Murtagh didn’t know what he felt about being completely in charge, but understood it had to be that way. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Coming back to Carvahall felt surreal after spending so much time digging around in his past. Murtagh felt off-kilter, like something wasn’t right or a piece of the puzzle was missing. One thing was for sure; he wasn’t looking forward to sleeping. He hadn’t done much of it in Urû’baen and doubted his sleep would be peaceful once he finally caved.

Fenris greeted them loudly when they walked through the door. She rubbed up against Murtagh’s legs and wouldn’t stop until he petted her. She walked over to Tornac afterwards and demanded the same treatment from him, which he readily gave her. 

Murtagh forced himself to pick up his bag again and head for his room. He knew there was a lot they needed to do still. For one, Tornac wanted to call everyone and warn them that Hrothgar would be getting in touch. Murtagh was more than happy to leave that task to him. 

He put his bag down by the bed and sat down on the edge. His eyes burned and his head felt fussy, but he still dreaded closing his eyes and going to sleep. 

He wasn’t sure when, but Tornac showed up in his doorway sometime later. He lingered briefly before walking into the room. He sat down next to Murtagh.

“You should get some sleep,” he said softly.

Murtagh was so tired he felt cold. He could remember the last time he’d felt this way and the last thing he wanted was to fall back into that state of mind. That still didn’t mean he was looking forward to sleeping.

“I can stay with you if you’d like,” Tornac offered.

Murtagh wanted to say no, that he was fine and wasn’t scared of sleeping on his own, but he couldn’t get the lie past his lips. He just looked at Tornac instead. 

Tornac put a hand on Murtagh’s shoulder. “All right. Let’s get some sleep.”

Murtagh let Tornac wrestle him out of his jacket and guide him to lie down on the bed. Tornac lay down on the other side, facing Murtagh.

Murtagh opened his mouth – to say what he didn’t know, but Tornac cut him off anyway.

“Don’t worry about anything else,” Tornac said. “Just focus on sleeping. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Murtagh was so tired he could cry. He closed his eyes instead and tried to keep his breathing calm and even. 

He fell asleep between one breath and the next without even realising it.

-;-

He realised why he should have been the one to call Thorn the moment Thorn showed up at his door.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Thorn echoed. “That’s what you open with?” There were still bruises under his eyes, though he looked alarmingly awake. If anything, he looked a little wild.

Murtagh was too tired to think of a way to defuse Thorn quickly. He’d slept, miraculous as it was, though he’d woken up several times due to repeating nightmares. Tornac had stayed with him the entire time, shushing him in turns and holding him when he needed it. He still felt tired, but not like he was about to break into teeny tiny pieces anymore. “Could we maybe do this inside?”

Thorn paused. He took a moment to stare at Murtagh far too closely for comfort before nodding. 

Murtagh pushed open the door and let Thorn slip past him. He was too tired to look around and see if any of the neighbours were watching. He was frankly too tired to even care if they were. Let them look. His life was probably more exciting than theirs, anyway, or was about to be.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were going back to the bat,” Thorn said as he shoved off his shoes. 

“What?” Murtagh rubbed a hand over his face. “You’ll have to speak plainly. I haven’t been sleeping much. Everything else is going to go over my head.” 

Thorn paused for what felt like a minute but was probably only a few seconds. Murtagh then promptly found himself ushered into the living room and onto the couch. Thorn disappeared, only to come back with a glass of juice which he then gave to Murtagh. 

“You didn’t tell me you were going back to Urû’baen,” Thorn said as he sat down next to Murtagh. 

“I was going to tell you when I came back,” Murtagh said just as he remembered it. He was pretty sure he’d promised to do just that.

“I know,” Thorn said, “but I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. That’s huge, Tag. Seriously huge. At least it is if I understood the call from your lawyer right.” Thorn looked a little shell-shocked. “You’re fighting back. I can’t believe it.” 

Murtagh had no idea if that was a good or bad thing. “Not against my original charge,” he said. At least, he didn’t think they were. “We’re aiming for King.”

Thorn’s jaw dropped so low it was practically on the floor. 

“I suppose we could get it overturned, even though I did it,” Murtagh said, looking down at the glass Thorn had gotten him. He took a sip of it. “I don’t think self-defence even came up in the original trial.”

“This is how I know you’re sleep-deprived,” Thorn said, still sounding a little shocked. “You don’t normally speak with this much candour.” 

“I suppose not.” Murtagh took another sip of the juice. “I guess that means I’m calling in sick to work. Can’t have me berating the customers for flirting with the bartender. That would be bad for business.” 

Thorn barked a surprised laugh. “Now that I’d pay to see.”

Murtagh put down the glass and leaned back into the couch. His eyelids still felt heavy and his eyes were aching faintly. He could definitely do with more sleep, but Tornac was out on an errand of some sort and he didn’t feel like the thought of sleeping when there was no one else in the house.

“So then you’re doing it?” Murtagh found himself asking. He rubbed a hand over his mouth like it could somehow erase the words, though he doubted it worked like that.

Thorn put a hand on Murtagh’s shoulder. “Of course I am,” he said firmly. “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.” 

“Even -” Murtagh cut himself off before he could say too much. Shit, he really hated being sleep-deprived. 

Thorn gave a wry smile. “Yes, even hide a body. We’d probably have to rent a car, though, but I’m sure we could make it work.”

Murtagh felt a really silly urge to laugh. He held it in. 

“But you look exhausted,” Thorn said. “I should let you get some rest.”

“Mm, can’t. Not when Tornac’s out,” Murtagh heard himself say. He threw an arm over his face in the hopes it’d stop him from saying anything else stupid. Knowing his luck, that was very unlikely.

“I could stay if you want.” 

“You have a baby, Thorn,” he said. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Thorn shoved him. “You’re not doing anything to me. I’m offering.” He leaned back against the couch beside him. “But if you’d rather try to stay awake, I can try to find something for us to watch in the meantime.”

Murtagh raised his arm enough to look at Thorn.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Thorn decided before Murtagh could even think to open his mouth. He grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on.

Thorn eventually settled on a 90s movie of some kind, Murtagh wasn’t paying that much attention. He just sank lower into the couch and tried to keep his eyes on the TV. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, but fought it anyway. Thorn shouldn’t have to deal with him sleep-deprived and nightmare-riddled. He’d fight back sleep as long as he could, if only to spare his self-proclaimed best friend. Thorn deserved that and so much more.

-;-

After Thorn, it was Angela. She called, which meant that the conversation could be kept short and to the point. She made it clear that she was more than happy to testify in his case and that she would have some documents drawn up for him to sign during his next session. 

Shruikan came by next, before Murtagh could make himself reach out. Shruikan took one look at him and declared they were going for a walk. That was how they found themselves walking through a nearby park while Murtagh worked up the courage to speak his mind.

“I can’t ask this of you.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” was all Shruikan said. 

Birds were chirping overhead. The weather was disgustingly pleasant. Murtagh would much rather have preferred to have this talk to the soundtrack of raindrops and thunder rolling in the distance. Sun and birdsong felt wrong somehow. 

“It’s my life,” Shruikan said. 

“And I’d be asking you to risk it on a hunch,” Murtagh interrupted. “If it went wrong...” 

Shruikan stopped and turned to him. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said bluntly. “Things have been this way for far too long. It’s high time that we fought back.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Murtagh insisted. “You’re like me. If he recognises you -” 

“Then he recognises me,” Shruikan interrupted. “I’d like to see him try to come after me now. I’m not as young and scrawny as I used to be.” 

Somehow Murtagh had a hard time picturing Shruikan as young and reedy, even though he knew how much that fit King’s type to a T.

“Let me be blunt,” Shruikan said when he saw Murtagh getting ready to say something else. “I’m not just doing this for you. I’m doing it for my own peace of mind.” Shruikan was visibly tense, but he pressed on. “He took my childhood from me, just like he helped do the same to you. I want to get justice for all the lives he helped ruin. I don’t care if it exposes me in the process. I’m ready to do that and more to see him behind bars where he belongs.”

Murtagh slipped his hands into his pockets. “You’re stronger than me.”

“Far from it,” Shruikan said and waved a hand sharply. “If I were, I would have gone after him myself.”

Murtagh looked away, but everything around them was green, blossoming or thriving. It felt wrong to look at it. 

“If your attorney wants to use my testimony, I’m going to let him,” Shruikan said. “I’ll stand before a court and say the same. I want this bastard to pay, and I’ll happily play a part in making that happen.” 

Murtagh looked him in the eyes. “What does Glaedr feel about this?” 

Shruikan shrugged his huge shoulders. “He supports me no matter what happens.” 

Murtagh almost envied him that certainty. 

“Don’t throw this case just because you want to keep me out of it,” Shruikan said as he started to walk again. “I’m an asset. Use me.” 

Murtagh shook his head. “Ultimately, it’s Hrothgar’s call,” he said. “I’ll let him decide.” 

“As long as you actually let him decide,” Shruikan said dryly. 

Murtagh snorted. “I couldn’t talk him out of representing me back when I thought I didn’t deserve representation,” he said just as dryly. “You don’t have to worry about me influencing him into doing a lousy job.” 

Shruikan chuckled. 

-;- 

The next person that approached Murtagh was Eragon. Murtagh hadn’t expected him, if only because he’d halfway been expecting Brom to turn Hrothgar down without mentioning anything to Eragon. 

Eragon looked shell-shocked. There was really no other word for it. 

“Come in.” Murtagh held the door open for him.

Eragon all but stumbled over the threshold. He fumbled with his shoes to the point of almost tripping over them, but caught himself before Murtagh could reach out to help. He jolted when Fenris came by to say hello.

“Can I get you anything?” Murtagh said. 

Eragon looked at him sharply. His eyes were wide and almost unresponsive. “N-no, I’m,” he swallowed heavily, “I’m fine.”

“You know what that stands for, right?” Murtagh said as he headed for the living room.

Eragon just followed him mutely.

Murtagh gestured for him to take a seat. Eragon did, almost sitting on the armrest before correcting himself. He was still clearly not all there.

“Freaked-out, insecure, neurotic and emotional.” 

Eragon blinked. “Isn’t that a movie quote?” 

“It probably is,” Murtagh said. “I always thought it fit, though. Don’t you think?”

Eragon almost seemed to hunch in on himself. He kept shifting, knees rising and lifting like he wanted to pull them up onto the seat but didn’t think it was appropriate.

“Are you going to make me guess why you’re here or?” Murtagh said when Eragon failed to speak. 

Eragon flinched and put his arms around himself.

Murtagh was starting to suspect he knew why Eragon was there. The kid looked spooked out of his mind. There could only be one reason why. Or, at least Murtagh hoped so.

“It’s ok if you come here with bad news.”

Eragon’s head snapped up. “No,” he blurted out. “Dad’s going to do it.” 

To say Murtagh was surprised would have been an understatement. “He is?” 

Eragon nodded, a little shakily. “He was surprised when Tornac called, but he’s going to do it.” 

Murtagh didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling. It felt like an amalgamation of good and bad emotions. 

“Did you come here to tell me that?”

Eragon shook his head. “I think dad’s going to call Tornac later. He was a little...” he chewed on his lip, “...surprised, I guess, when Tornac called. And then when that guy – your lawyer called. He needed to think.” 

Murtagh was glad there was at least one sane sceptic among them. Everyone else had seemed eager – if not keen – on jumping feet first into the case. It pleased him to hear that someone shared his point of view. 

“But whatever happened the last time he was here really stuck with him,” Eragon said, “so he’s going to do it. I can tell.” 

Murtagh remembered all too well what had happened the last time Brom had dropped by. That had been an... _experience_ for everyone involved.

“Um.”

Eragon was starting to come back to himself. Murtagh was glad to see his wide-eyed expression disappearing piece by piece. He still looked a little pale, but his cheeks were colouring slowly.

“Dad wouldn’t tell me exactly what was going on,” Eragon continued.

Ah. That explained it. “So that’s why you looked so shocked,” Murtagh said. “You only have half of the puzzle.”

Eragon’s cheeks reddened. 

“It’s ok.” It wasn’t, not exactly. The entire situation was never going to be ‘ok.’ But compared to the questions and accusations that were undoubtedly in his future, anything Eragon might voice was going to be ok. “I’m fighting back.” 

Eragon frowned, clearly confused.

“If you remember anything of our, ah, previous sessions -”

Eragon paled suddenly and that was more of an answer than anything he could have spoken out loud.

“I’m fighting back,” Murtagh said, voice quiet, “against that.”

“You’re reopening your case?” Eragon blurted out, almost stuttering over the words.

“No.” Murtagh watched as Fenris jumped onto the couch next to him and made herself comfortable by his side. She started to purr soothingly. “But not all of my,” Murtagh searched for a word that fit, “demons are in the ground. I’m going after them.” 

Eragon’s eyes widened again. His mouth fell open. He stayed like that for a long time – probably only a few minutes, but it felt longer. He closed his mouth with a snap and swallowed sharply. “You’re – you’re really brave,” he said finally. 

“No.”

“Yes, you are,” Eragon said, voice losing its stutter. “That takes a lot of courage. I’d know.” His eyes looked haunted.

Murtagh frowned. “Did -”

“No!” Eragon said loudly. “N-no, but me. But someone I know.

Murtagh wondered who before pushing the question of his mind. It wasn’t his place to pry.

“So then Tornac called dad because he used to know your dad?” 

Murtagh only just held in a flinch. “Yes.” 

Eragon frowned. “But if you’re not overturning your original case -” 

“Remember that day, when you told me why you were seeing Angela?” Murtagh said. 

Eragon fell silent. He seemed to give up on pretence and pulled his feet up onto the couch. He pulled them to his chest and curled his arms around them. Good. He looked more comfortable now. 

“Yes,” he answered finally, voice quiet. 

“It’s all connected,” Murtagh said. “He might know – or at least know of – the man we are bringing charges against.” Murtagh couldn’t say the name. Wouldn’t, not unless he had to. “And, if nothing else, he can certainly speak to my father’s character and what that might have done to me.”

“Did to you,” Eragon said, eyes still caught on his knees. 

Murtagh looked over at Fenris and allowed himself to pet her. “Did to me,” he conceded, voice low and rough. 

The room fell silent.

“You sure I can’t get you anything?” 

Eragon licked his lips. “Do you have any alcohol?”

Murtagh had to fight back a smile. “Tornac doesn’t drink much and I get enough of that at work. Besides, aren’t you a little young for that?” 

“Hey!” Eragon protested, finally looking away from his knees. “You’ve served me before! You know how old I am!”

“Do I?” Murtagh made sure to school his expression. “I think I’ve forgotten. You might have to remind me.” 

Eragon spluttered. 

Murtagh couldn’t hold it in anymore. He started to laugh. 

Eragon stared at him like he’d never seen Murtagh before. His cheeks went so red they resembled fire-hydrants. His eyes were wide again, but different than before. They were wide like Fenris’ were when she was taking in something new. 

Murtagh looked down at Fenris and gave her a last pat. “Tea or coffee. That’s the strongest brew I’m going to serve you here,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “I think I should keep your old man in my good graces for as long as I can.”

Eragon looked down again, still blushing. He muttered something, though Murtagh couldn’t quite decipher what.

“I’ll get some water going,” he said. “You can come join me when you’re ready.”

He left Eragon there, pushing down thoughts that were trying to make their way to the surface. He didn’t have time for complications. Not now. A few months ago he would have said not ever, but things had changed and were still changing. So, maybe not never but definitely not now. 

-;- 

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Angela for her opinion when he came by for his next session, but he held it in. He signed the paperwork she had drawn up for him and walked her through his days in Urû’baen instead. 

Maybe it was because he was holding something in that he ended up caving and asking Tornac about something else. 

“How did you know that doctor?” 

Tornac paused in the middle of the dinner-preparations. He sighed. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Murtagh said as he kept stirring the sauce. 

“It’s all right.” Tornac grabbed the tray and put it in the oven. “We were friends once, back when I still lived in Urû’baen.” 

Murtagh kept his eyes on Tornac. Tornac looked tired and a little sad, maybe. 

“We had an argument before I left,” Tornac said. “We didn’t keep in touch.”

That sounded more like a romantic break-up than a platonic one, but Murtagh kept the opinion to himself.

“I’m surprised she stayed, to tell you the truth.” Tornac’s mouth twitched, like it wanted to smile but didn’t know how. “She was the one that wanted to get out of town and make it big in another city without her parents hanging over her head. I was the one that wanted to stay.”

“I don’t blame you for leaving,” Murtagh said and only became aware of how the words sounded after they’d left him. 

Tornac gave a small, slightly sad smile. “I know.” 

Murtagh didn’t know everything about why Tornac had decided to leave, but he really didn’t blame him. After all, Murtagh’d had one foot out the door himself before everything had come crashing down on him. 

“I really do hope she wasn’t one of the doctors that treated you,” Tornac said, face darkening. “If she saw, if she did nothing -” 

“I don’t remember her,” Murtagh said. He didn’t tell Tornac that some faces from Urû’baen had started to blur together. Tornac looked upset enough already. He didn’t want to make it worse. 

Tornac sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I was the one that asked.”

Tornac shook his head. He was back to looking sad.

“Maybe you should call her,” Murtagh suggested. “It could be good to clear the air.”

Tornac patted his shoulder. “Thank you, but -” 

“Take your own advice for once, old man,” Murtagh said. “You’re always the one telling people it’s not good to hold a grudge. Why not try doing as you preach?” 

Tornac looked surprised. 

“What? I listen.” Murtagh put away the spoon and stepped away from the stove-top. “Sometimes.” 

Tornac shook his head and chuckled. “You always were too smart for your own good.”

“If I am as smart as you claim, maybe you should listen to me for once.” 

Tornac shook his head again and moved past Murtagh to the fridge. “Maybe.” 

Murtagh watched him for a moment before moving to set the table. Some people just needed a nudge, other people needed a whack over the head. It still remained to be seen just where on the scale Tornac belonged. 

-;-

 _“My guy at CPS came through,”_ Hrothgar said when he called. _“There are files, interviews, reports, photographs even.”_

Murtagh wasn’t nearly as enthused. If CPS had investigated and done nothing, then it meant they hadn’t found anything worth reporting. That meant they had to rely on finding evidence elsewhere.

“How do they look?” Tornac asked, looking and sounding more optimistic than Murtagh. 

 _“They remark that Murtagh is a very quiet and shy child, but polite and receptive to being asked questions,”_ Hrothgar said, and there was a faint sound of pages turning in the background. _“He’s thin, but not so thin that they become suspicious. There are some pictures here they asked Murtagh to draw and a few notes on them.”_

Murtagh frowned. He couldn’t even remember these visits. He must have been young when they happened. So young than Morzan hadn’t perfected his method of abuse yet.

 _“Looks like they asked Murtagh to draw a house and a family and he drew – Murtagh, was your house ever yellow?”_  

“No,” Murtagh answered. “But Thorn’s was. The one next door.”

 _“Yes, that would match with the tree in the front garden and the wrap-around porch,”_ Hrothgar said, flipping through some more pages. _“The family you drew has red hair. I’m guessing that is also a match for Thorn?”_

“Yes,” Tornac answered for Murtagh. He was frowning. “That should have tipped the CPS off. Most kids would draw their own house, their own family.”

 _“They made a few notes on it, yes,”_ Hrothgar said, sounding as concerned as Tornac.

“I’m surprised you can make that much out of my drawing,” Murtagh said to say...well, anything really. “I doubt I was much of an artist at that age.”

 _“No child is,”_ Hrothgar conceded, _“but it is still legible, Murtagh. And if it hadn’t been, well, I have children. You learn how to read their drawings pretty quickly with a few of them running underfoot.”_  

“What did the CPS have to say about that?” Tornac asked.

Hrothgar sighed. _“They asked Murtagh to draw another picture, this one of his house and his family, but according to their notes Murtagh politely declined and went outside to play.”_  

Tornac’s frown deepened. “They can’t just have left it at that?” 

 _“They shouldn’t have, but they did.”_ Hrothgar sounded grim. _“They spoke with Teytor afterwards and he seems to have spun a story about how clever Murtagh is, how they asked him to draw_ a _family and_ a _house and Murtagh did. He makes some references to a lot of pictures that Murtagh has previously drawn of their house and their family, but...”_ More whispers of papers being flipped drowned out whatever else Hrothgar might have said. _“No, there are no photographs of them or other mentions of Murtagh’s artistic tendencies after that.”_  

Tornac shook his head, eyes dark. “Anyone worth their salt should have read those signs and made the appropriate connections.”

 _“Indeed,”_ Hrothgar said. _“But the name on this report, I know I’ve seen it before. Hang on.”_  

“What are you two talking about?” Murtagh asked while Hrothgar kept busy. 

“I have worked with kids for a while now,” Tornac said. “Every time a child is reluctant to say or do anything that might involve their family, a red flag goes up. That’s a sign of abuse and neglect.” He looked grim. “How old was Murtagh during that visit?”

 _“Ah, around five if I can believe these notes, which I’m really starting not to,”_ Hrothgar said, sounding distracted.

Well, that explained why Murtagh had no memory of the visit. Most people had few memories before the age of six or seven, and if they were they were rarely happy ones. His first memory was of getting the scar on his back. He’d been three years old. 

 _“Here it is!”_ Hrothgar exclaimed. _“Jermine. That’s not a name you hear every day, and yet I have seen it twice today. Theodore and Gerald Jermine. I’ll eat my hat if they’re not related somehow.”_  

“Where did you see the other Jermine?” Tornac asked.

_“In Murtagh’s later hospital records. It was very memorable when coupled with what is clearly a spiral fracture.”_

Murtagh had broken his arm when he’d been nine. Or rather, Morzan had broken it for him.

Tornac was starting to look angry again. “What do those notes say?” 

 _“Teytor explained it away,”_ Hrothgar said, sounding faintly disbelieving. _“Said Murtagh had gotten it caught and twisted it free before Teytor could get there to help him. Gods give me strength.”_  

Tornac took a few deep and clearly calculated breaths. “Can we use this?”

 _“Poorly done investigations and medical neglect? You will have to talk me out of using this,”_ Hrothgar said instantly. 

“But I thought we weren’t going after my father,” Murtagh said. Because suddenly it sounded like they were.

 _“That might not have been our original intent, but if I can spin it that way then I will,”_ Hrothgar said. _“You were being abused and clearly had no one to help you. Of course you ended up the way you did. Your father and the authority figures that refused to listen are to blame here, not you. I will take as many down people as I can.”_  

Murtagh couldn’t speak. 

 _“There is a mountain of paperwork where this came from,”_ Hrothgar said. _“I will give you another call when I’ve read through it all. I’ll call my guy and ask if he’d like to testify. It wouldn’t hurt to get a professional’s take on this.”_

“Can he be trusted?” Tornac asked.

Hrothgar didn’t even hesitate. _“Yes.”_

And neither did Tornac. “Then call him,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have another call to make myself. I’ll let you know if you can expand that witness list.”

 _“Good,”_ Hrothgar said. _“Do.”_  

Tornac hung up without further ado before grabbing his old, battered cell-phone and tapping away.

“Tornac?”

“I’m taking your advice,” Tornac said, answering a question Murtagh wasn’t aware of having asked. “If there is a bridge to mend, then I’m mending it. We could certainly do with another, more impartial medical expert witness and I just might be able to get one.”

-;-

Tornac stayed on the phone for hours. Murtagh let him make the call in private. He had a feeling he knew exactly who Tornac was calling and it was not his place to listen in on that. 

Murtagh instead found himself thinking whether there was a point in what they were doing. They would need to go to the police eventually, to press charges. They couldn’t do that in Urû’baen. They were lucky if they’d get shown the door there. And considering Murtagh’s luck they were probably due for something far more unpleasant.

But how could they do it anywhere else? Murtagh didn’t know how jurisdictions worked, exactly. The only part of police-work that he was familiar with was being booked, processed and sent to jail. Considering Tornac and Hrothgar had yet to mentioned it, he didn’t know if they’d even thought about it.

He was still scrolling through Wikipedia when Tornac finally resurfaced. He closed the laptop and stood. 

Tornac looked rattled. He was clutching his phone like he was afraid of dropping it. 

“Tornac?” 

“She’ll do it.” He looked as disbelieving as he sounded. “She’ll go through the files and let us know if anything jumps out at her.” 

Murtagh walked over and guided Tornac into the nearest seat. “You mended the bridge?” 

Tornac’s hand shook as he put the phone down on the coffee table. “Close.” He smiled weakly. “Trianna is a prideful woman. She refused to believe that any of her colleagues would deliberately overlook something like this. But I managed to talk her into taking a closer look. It’s...progress.”

“While we’re on the subject.” Murtagh sat down next to him. He didn’t want to pile more onto Tornac’s plate, but there was only so much he could do on his own. Murtagh, after all, was an ex-con. “How exactly are we going to press charges without getting run out of the police station?” 

Tornac blinked in surprise. “Oh,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Murtagh had been afraid of that. 

“But we’ll find a way,” Tornac said. He sounded far more confident than Murtagh was. 

-;- 

Shruikan dropped by unexpectedly a few days later with Glaedr in tow. Only Tornac didn’t look too surprised to see him.

“I figured it would be better to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Shruikan said as they stepped inside. 

“Now I’m a horse,” Glaedr said, though he sounded fond. “I was a bastard earlier. You’d think he’d make up his mind.”

Shruikan snorted. 

Tornac ushered them into the kitchen where he quickly started to put a kettle on. “Talk while I’m working. I’m too wired to wait.”

“Well, Murtagh is right to raise concerns,” Glaedr said as he took a seat around the kitchen island. Shruikan sat down next to him. “Normal procedure dictates that you file charges in the jurisdiction you belong to or the one the crime took place in.” 

“So then couldn’t he file here?” Tornac asked as he took some cups out of the cupboards. 

“In theory,” Glaedr agreed. “From what I understand, he’d have an easier time of filing the complaints, though I’m not sure it’d look the best from a legal stand point. You’d have to ask a lawyer about that.” 

“I have. Hrothgar is looking into it,” Tornac said. He was flitting all around the kitchen. Murtagh stopped him before he could walk into something or drop the milk on the floor. 

“I got this.” 

“Thank you, but I really need something to do with my hands,” Tornac protested.

“Then you can stir a whole bowl of sugar into your tea.” Murtagh pushed him into a chair. “You know, how you prefer to take it but don’t because you know it’s bad for you.”

“But -”

“I got this,” Murtagh repeated. “Ask Glaedr some more questions. Apparently this is his field.”

“Well, the police part of it,” Glaedr said. “I’m an officer.” 

“Detective,” Shruikan corrected. “Stop being modest.” 

“It’s not modesty, it’s semantics,” Glaedr tried to argue.

“The majority of the crimes took part in Urû’baen,” Murtagh said as he put sugar and honey on the counter. Something told him that if Shruikan and Glaedr kept going then they wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon. “I’m not sure there’s much point in going after King for what he did here.” 

“Of course there is,” three voices said at once in various intonations and inflections.

“He’s a creep. Milk it,” Shruikan said firmly. 

“What my partner so succinctly said,” Glaedr said dryly and patted Shruikan’s arm. 

“Well, Urû’baen is where most things happened regardless. And he’s senator there now. It would be hitting him where it hurts the most,” Murtagh said. 

“Beating him would be hitting him where it hurts,” Shruikan said darkly. 

Murtagh grabbed the kettle once it started to whistle and moved it to the counter. 

“And even if you file here, the case would most likely be tried in Urû’baen anyway. It’s all a matter of who shouts the loudest in cases like this,” Glaedr said. “The ones with the highest profile always wins.” 

“So CPD doesn’t stand a chance,” Tornac said, almost sounding sad. He immediately grabbed the kettle and started pouring. 

Murtagh, reluctantly, found that there was nothing else for him to do than to take a seat. 

Glaedr shook his head. “But we could get the ball rolling. It would certainly be easier for you.”

“Can you help us with that?”  Tornac asked. 

“Certainly,” Glaedr said. “Just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll help you get the wheels in motion.” 

“You’ll have my ever-lasting gratitude,” Tornac said as he started putting a mountain of sugar into his cup.

Shruikan’s eyebrow went up. He looked at Murtagh. “I guess you weren’t kidding.” 

Murtagh hid a smirk behind his still-steeping brew. 

“Is there any way we can prevent police-tampering?” Tornac said as he started to stir his tea. “I trust CPD. I don’t trust Urû’baen’s police force at all. They have let us know, black on white, just what they think of us.” 

Glaedr frowned. “You’re really worried they’ll try to doctor something?” 

Murtagh snorted before he could stop himself.

“What Murtagh means is that we’ve already seen signs of a CPS worker turning a blind eye and a doctor doing the same.” Tornac looked grim. “That town adored Murtagh’s father. Murtagh was seventeen, catatonic and had defensive wounds, but they still tried him as an adult. They won even though their case only had a handful of pictures and some preliminary test results.” 

Glaedr fell silent. “That isn’t shoddy police-work you’re describing,” he said stiffly. “That’s just... _wrong_.” 

“Now you understand why we’re concerned,” Tornac said. “We’ve sent evidence to a private lab, but they’ll want to test it for themselves. Unless they’re monitored the entire time, how can we be certain their test-results won’t contradict ours?” 

“Get ahead of the game. Send samples to more labs. Hell, we can probably do a few tests of our own at the precinct before Urû’baen sends people to come take over. We just need to make sure there’s enough to go around,” Glaedr said. “Do you know how much there is to test?”

“Plenty,” Murtagh said softly. 

The room fell abruptly silent. 

It was still silent when Shruikan put something on the table and slid it over to Tornac. “Here,” he said. “I forgot to give this to you earlier. It should help.”

Murtagh caught a glimpse of a sealed plastic bag with something white in it before Tornac grabbed it. He didn’t need to see more. He knew exactly what it was.

“Thank you,” Tornac said, followed closely by Murtagh’s, “That’s not going to help.”

Shruikan gave him a tired look. 

“It won’t,” Murtagh said. “It isn’t signed and you know he isn’t careless. There isn’t going to be any prints beyond mine and the mailman’s.” 

“It’s more than nothing,” Shruikan said gravely.

Murtagh shook his head and looked away. 

“I’ll talk to some of my co-workers,” Glaedr said into the following silence. “People that can be trusted, I promise. Together we should be able to do everything by the book and still have things ready by the time the big city tells us to stop because the case is theirs now.” 

“That doesn’t sound remotely by the book,” Murtagh told him dryly. 

“That’s the beauty of my co-workers,” Glaedr said with a glimmer in his eye. “They’ll make sure it is.”


End file.
